. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . for me, Now I thought she was kind Only because she was cold. I heard no sound where I stoodBut the rivulet on from the lawnRunning down to my own dark wood ;Or the voice of the long sea-wave as it swelldNow and then in the dim-gray dawn ;But I looked, and round, all round the house I beheldThe death-white curtain drawn ;Felt a horror over me my skin and catch my breath,Knew that the death-white curtain meant but sleep,Yet I shudderd and thought like a fool of the sleepof death. A 3Io>!odraina. 39 XV. So dark a mind within me dwells,And
. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . for me, Now I thought she was kind Only because she was cold. I heard no sound where I stoodBut the rivulet on from the lawnRunning down to my own dark wood ;Or the voice of the long sea-wave as it swelldNow and then in the dim-gray dawn ;But I looked, and round, all round the house I beheldThe death-white curtain drawn ;Felt a horror over me my skin and catch my breath,Knew that the death-white curtain meant but sleep,Yet I shudderd and thought like a fool of the sleepof death. A 3Io>!odraina. 39 XV. So dark a mind within me dwells,And I make myself such evil cheer, That if / be dear to some one else, Then some one else may have much to fear ; But if / be dear to some one else. Then I should be to myself more dear. Shall I not take care of all that I think, Vea evn of wretched meat and drink. If I be dear, If I be dear to some one else. 40 Maud: XVI. This lump of earth has left his estateThe lighter by the loss of his weight;And so that he find what he went to seek,. O BEAUTIFUL CREATURE, WHAT AM I THAT I DARE TOLOOK HER WAY. And fulsome Pleasure clog him, and drownHis heart in the gross mud-honey of town,He may stay for a year who has gone for a week : A Monodraina. 41 But this is the day when I must speak,And I see my Oread coming down,O this is the day ! 0 beautiful creature, what am IThat I dare to look her way ;Think I may hold dominion sweet, Lord of the pulse that is lord of her breast. And dream of her beauty with tender dread. From the delicate Arab arch of her feet To the grace that, bright and light as the crest Of a peacock, sits on her shining head. And she knows it not: O, if she knew it, To know her beauty might half undo it. 1 know it the one bright thing to saveMy yet young life in the wilds of Time,Perhaps from madness, perhaps from crime,Perhaps from a selfish grave. What, if she be fastend to this fool lord. Dare I bid her abide by her word ? Should I love her so well if she Had given her
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