Then I peeped out. Some breath divine had made his face, compared with mine,
An angel's. Love with all its faults had set there our Creator's sign.
That shook me. One of us was wrong. Which? He or I? His soul was vexed
Neither by this world nor the next, but floated in a bubble of song.
It haunted me, as he had said; it chimed and rhymed about my bed.
It filled my head with Sunflower-tress; but she—I writhed—was old or dead.
Was all my suffering a waste? Had superstition wed me chaste
To Its effect? Was this my Cause? My tutor in the dark grimaced.
I saw him snug at home, and how he would have chuckled at my vow!
Well, who laughs last.... I pictured him a dotard or in hell by now.