SHOWING HOW THE VOW WAS BROKEN.

The poet oped his bolted door

The midnight sky to view;

A spirit-feel was in the air

Which seemed to touch his spirit bare

Whenever his breath he drew;

And the stars a liquid softness had,

As alone their holiness forbade

Their falling with the dew.

They shine upon the steadfast hills,

Upon the swinging tide,

Upon the narrow track of beach

And the murmuring pebbles pied:

They shine on every lovely place,

They shine upon the corpse's face,

As it were fair beside.

It lay before him, humanlike,

Yet so unlike a thing!

More awful in its shrouded pomp

Than any crowned king:

All calm and cold, as it did hold

Some secret, glorying.

A heavier weight than of its clay

Clung to his heart and knee:

As if those folded palms could strike

He staggered groaningly,

And then o'erhung, without a groan,

The meek close mouth that smiled alone,

Whose speech the scroll must be.