her anguished face against the seat.
At last she rose, a woman stricken -- dumb -- And trailed away
with slowly-dragging feet.
Gervase looked after her, but feared to pass The barrier set
between them. All his rare
Joy broke to fragments -- worse than that, unreal. And
standing lonely there,
His swollen heart burst out, and on the grass
He flung himself and wept. He knew, alas!
The loss so great his life could never heal.
XXXVIII
For days thereafter Eunice lived retired, Waited
upon by one old serving-maid.
She would not leave her chamber, and desired Only to hide herself. She
was afraid
Of what her eyes might trick her into seeing, Of what her longing
urge her then to do.
What was this dreadful illness solitude Had
tortured her into?
Her hours went by in a long constant fleeing
The thought of that one morning. And her being
Bruised itself on a happening so rude.
XXXIX
It grew ripe Summer, when one morning came Her
tirewoman with a letter, printed
Upon the seal were the Deane crest and name. With utmost gentleness,
【AmyLowell:PickthornManor】相关文章:
最新
2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17
2016-03-17