WHAT pain, to wake and miss you!
To wake with a tightened
heart,
And mouth
reaching forward to kiss you!
This then at last is the dawn, and the bell
Clanging at the farm! Such
bewilderment
Comes
with the sight of the room, I cannot tell.
It is raining. Down the half-obscure road
Four labourers pass with
their scythes
Dejectedly; — a huntsman goes by with his
load:
A gun, and a bunched-up deer, its four little
feet
Clustered
dead. — And this is the dawn
For which I wanted the night to
retreat!