Page:Poems Barrett.djvu/278

And that hour—beneath the beech,—
 When I listened in a dream,
And he said, in his deep speech,
 That he owed me all esteem,—
 Each word swam in on my brain
 With a dim, dilating pain,
 Till it burst with that last strain—

I fell flooded with a Dark,
 In the silence of a swoon—
When I rose, still cold and stark,
 There was night,—I saw the moon:
 And the stars, each in its place,
 And the May-blooms on the grass,
 Seemed to wonder what I was.

And I walked as if apart
 From myself, when I could stand—
And I pitied my own heart,
 As if I held it in my hand,—
 Somewhat coldly,—with a sense
 Of fulfilled benevolence,
 And a "Poor thing" negligence.

And I answered coldly too,
 When you met me at the door;
And I only heard the dew
 Dripping from me to the floor:
 And the flowers I bade you see.
 Were too withered for the bee,—
 As my life, henceforth, for me.

Do not weep so—Dear—heart-warm!
 It was best as it befell!
If I say he did me harm,
 I speak wild,—I am not well.
 All his words were kind and good—
 He esteemed me! Only blood
 Runs so faint in womanhood.