One saw in her a modest, model maid,
A woman loved by women; and with men
A presence, mellow-lighting like the moon;
Yet could she shed no light when came my storms,
As now they came full often. Then it seem’d
Her very mildness made her moods too dull
To penetrate the clouds that cover’d mine.
XLVI.
“It must be lonesome here for one like you,
A stranger-land, indeed, here,” would she sigh.