The apple blossoms scattered[14] lay,
The chill wind moaned, and night drew nigh,
As with a sigh he turned away[15]—
I watched[16] his form till lost in gloom,
And, save the dripping of the rain,[17]
There fell a stillness[18] of the tomb—
A lull that seemed to daze my brain.[19]
The morning after that sad night
The guilty one was found; and I,
With woman’s haste, sat down to write,