The day begin to stir. Lo there, her eyes

Like waning stars! Lo there, her pale sad face

Becurtained in loose hair! Now he can trace

Athwart that gleaming moon her mouth's droopt bow

To tell all truth about her, and her woe

And dreadful store of knowledge. As one shockt

To worse than death lookt she, with horror lockt

Behind her tremulous tragic-moving lips:

"O love, O love," saith he, and saying, slips

Out of the bed: "Who hath dared do thee wrong?"

No answer hath she, but she looks him long

And deep, and looking, fades. He sleeps no more,

But up and down he pads the beaten floor,

And all that day his heart's wild crying hears,

And can thank God for gracious dew of tears

And tender thoughts of her, not thoughts of shame.

So came the next night, and with night she came,

Dream-Helen; and he knew then he must go

Whence she had come. His need would have it so—

[20]

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