Mariana
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- With blackest moss the flower-plots
- Were thickly crusted, one and all:
- The rusted nails fell from the knots
- That held the peach[1] to the garden-wall.[2]
- The broken sheds look’d sad and strange:
- Unlifted was the clinking latch;
- Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
- Upon the lonely moated grange.
- She only said, “My life is dreary,
- He cometh not,” she said;
- She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
- I would that I were dead!”
- Her tears fell with the dews at even;
- Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;[3]
- 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!”
- Upon the middle of the night,
- 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[4] 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!”
- 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:
- For leagues no other tree did mark[5]
- The level waste, the rounding gray.[6]
- She only said, “My life is dreary,
- He cometh not,” she said;
- She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
- I would that I were dead!”
- And ever when the moon was low,
- And the shrill winds were up and away,[7]
- 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,
- The shadow of the poplar fell
- Upon her bed, across her brow.
- She only said, “The night is dreary,
- He cometh not,” she said;
- She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
- I would that I were dead!”
- All day within the dreamy house,
- The doors upon their hinges creak’d;
- The blue fly sung in the pane;[8] the mouse
- Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek’d,
- Or from the crevice peer’d about.
- Old faces glimmer’d thro’ the doors,
- Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
- Old voices called her from without.
- She only said, “My life is dreary,
- He cometh not,” she said;
- She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
- I would that I were dead!”
- 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 loathed the hour
- When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
- Athwart the chambers, and the day
- Was sloping[9] toward his western bower.
- Then, said she, “I am very dreary,
- He will not come,” she said;
- She wept, “I am aweary, aweary,
- O God, that I were dead!”
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