While I clung tighter to his heart and press’d him,
And did not fear him, though my heart was broken,
But kiss’d his poor stain’d hands, and cried, and bless’d[710] him!
Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming cold
With sound[711] of falling rain—
When I could see his face,[712] and it look’d old,
Like the pinch’d face of one that dies[713] in pain;
Well, though we heard folk stirring[714] in the sun,
We never thought to hide away or run,
Until we heard those voices[715] in the street,