To tread upon—a clod to fling[1309]
From out his path. I took my child
And fled[1310] one night, half maddened, wild,
Far from his sight—I cared not where
So I again his face might ne’er
Behold. But soon once more with words
That seemed to me like songs of birds[1311]
He sought me out, and with eyes
Filled with repentant tears, implored