More often than you dream and dropped no tear,
You have slain him every hour. Think not at all
Of death lest into death by thought you fall.”
20
He turned to question her, then looked again,
And lo! the shape was gone. The darkness lay
Heavy as yet and a cold, shifting rain
Fell with the breeze that springs before the day.
It was an hour death loves. Across the way
The clock struck once again. He saw near by