To read those laws; an accent very low The mellow'd reflex of a winter moon; With swifter movement and in purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward brother: Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other— Of such a finish'd chasten'd purity. MARIANA. "Mariana in the moated grange."-Measure for Measure. I. WITH blackest moss the flower-plots Upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, II. Her tears fell with the dews at even; Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ; She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, "The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead! III. Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : She only said," The day is dreary, IV. About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled bark : She only said, "My life is dreary, She said, "I am aweary, aweary, V. And ever when the moon was low, And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro, She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, Upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, "The night is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, VI. All day within the dreamy house, The doors upon their hinges creak'd; The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd, Or from the crevice peer'd about. She only said, "My life is dreary, VII. The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loath'd the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, "I am very dreary, He will not come," she said; She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, Oh God, that I were dead!' |