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Where she was nothing. She had made other men
Dream themselves dead for her, but not this man,
Who sat now glowering with a captive scorn
Before her, waiting grimly for a word
Of weariness or of anger or disdain
To set him free.
Dream themselves dead for her, but not this man,
Who sat now glowering with a captive scorn
Before her, waiting grimly for a word
Of weariness or of anger or disdain
To set him free.
“You are not sound enough,
My lord, for travel yet,” she said. “I know,
For I have done more delving into life
And death than you, and into this mid-region
Between them, where you are, and where you sit
So cursed with loneliness and lethargy
That I could weep. Hard as this is for you,
It might be worse. You will go on your way,
While I sit knitting, withering and outworn,
With never a man that looks at me, save you,
So truthful as to tell me so.” She laughed
At him again, and he heard metal laughing,
As he had heard it speaking, in her low
And stinging words.
My lord, for travel yet,” she said. “I know,
For I have done more delving into life
And death than you, and into this mid-region
Between them, where you are, and where you sit
So cursed with loneliness and lethargy
That I could weep. Hard as this is for you,
It might be worse. You will go on your way,
While I sit knitting, withering and outworn,
With never a man that looks at me, save you,
So truthful as to tell me so.” She laughed
At him again, and he heard metal laughing,
As he had heard it speaking, in her low
And stinging words.
“You are not withering yet,”
He said; and his eyes ranged forgetfully
Over a studied feline slenderness
He said; and his eyes ranged forgetfully
Over a studied feline slenderness
[ 77 ]
