in the almanack
Of her clasped memory. In this very room Had Everard
uncloaked her. On this seat
Had drawn her to him, bade her note the trees, How
white they were and sweet
And later, coming to her, her dear groom,
Her Lord, had lain beside her in the gloom
Of moon and shade, and whispered her to ease.
XXIII
Her little taper made the room seem vast, Caverned
and empty. And her beating heart
Rapped through the silence all about her cast Like some loud,
dreadful death-watch taking part
In this sad vigil. Slowly she undrest, Put out the
light and crept into her bed.
The linen sheets were fragrant, but so cold. And
brimming tears she shed,
Sobbing and quivering in her barren nest,
Her weeping lips into the pillow prest,
Her eyes sealed fast within its smothering fold.
XXIV
The morning brought her a more stoic mind, And
sunshine struck across the polished floor.
She wondered whether this day she should find Gervase a-fishing,
and so listen more,
Much more again, to all he had to tell. And he was there, but
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2016-03-17
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