 | The Lady of La Garaye |  |
He's with her! is he dying too? his blood
Beats no more to and fro; his abstract mood
Weighs like a nightmare; something, well he knows,
Is horrible,—and still the horror grows;
But what it is, or how it came to pass,
Or why he lies half fainting on the grass,
Or what he strove to clutch at in his fall,
Or why he had no power for help to call,
This is confused and lost.
Beats no more to and fro; his abstract mood
Weighs like a nightmare; something, well he knows,
Is horrible,—and still the horror grows;
But what it is, or how it came to pass,
Or why he lies half fainting on the grass,
Or what he strove to clutch at in his fall,
Or why he had no power for help to call,
This is confused and lost.
But Claud has heard
A sound like breathings from a sleeping bird
New-caged that day,—a weak disturbing sigh,
The whisper of a grief that cannot cry,—
Repeated, and then still; and then again
Repeated,—and a long low moan of pain.
A sound like breathings from a sleeping bird
New-caged that day,—a weak disturbing sigh,
The whisper of a grief that cannot cry,—
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Repeated,—and a long low moan of pain.
| The Lady of La Garaye | |