Scooped in the great stone’s dripping face,
Three feet or less about its space—
A deep dark, awesome, noisome place.
Yet for a surety one lay there,
Wrapped in black weeds of coarsest wear.
My knees knocked, and I breathed a prayer.
A priest! Most old, most worn, most frail,
With lint-white hair, and visage pale.
I fell on my knees, and told my tale.
He listened with a pitying face,