III

Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:

The cock sung out an hour ere light:

      From the dark fen the oxen's low

Came to her: without hope of change,

      In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,

Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn

About the lonely moated grange.

            She only said, "The day is dreary,

                  He cometh not," she said;

            She said, "I am aweary, aweary,

                  I would that I were dead!"