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THE SEVEN TIMES

The dark was thick. A boy he seemed at that time
Who trotted by me with uncertain air;
“I'll tell my tale,” he murmured, “for I fancy
A friend goes there? . . .”
Then thus he told. “I reached—'twas for the first time—
A dwelling. Life was clogged in me with care;
I thought not I should meet an eyesome maiden,
But found one there.
“I entered on the precincts for the second time—
'Twas an adventure fit and fresh and fair—
I slackened in my footsteps at the porchway,
And found her there.
“I rose and travelled thither for the third time,
The hope-hues growing gayer and yet gayer
As I hastened round the boscage of the outskirts,
And found her there.

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“I journeyed to the place again the fourth time
(The best and rarest visit of the rare,
As it seemed to me, engrossed about these goings),
And found her there.
“When I bent me to my pilgrimage the fifth time
(Soft-thinking as I journeyed I would dare
A certain word at token of good auspice),
I found her there.
“That landscape did I traverse for the sixth time,
And dreamed on what we purposed to prepare;
I reached a tryst before my journey's end came,
And found her there.
“I went again—long after—aye, the seventh time;
The look of things was sinister and bare
As I caught no customed signal, heard no voice call,
Nor found her there.
“And now I gad the globe—day, night, and any time,
To light upon her hiding unaware,
And, maybe, I shall nigh me to some nymph-niche,
And find her there!”
“But how,” said I, “has your so little lifetime
Given roomage for such loving, loss, despair?
A boy so young!” Forthwith I turned my lantern
Upon him there.
His head was white. His small form, fine aforetime,
Was shrunken with old age and battering wear,
An eighty-years long plodder saw I pacing
Beside me there.