Then she was still; then sudden she
Let fall her eyes, and so outspake
As if her very heart would break,
Her proud lips trembling piteously:

“And whether he come soon or late
To kneel beside this nameless grave,
May God forgive my father’s hate
As I forgive, as she forgave!”

He saw the stone; he understood
With that quick knowledge that will come
Most quick when men are made most dumb
With terror that stops still the blood.

And then a blindness slowly fell
On soul and body; but his hands
Held tight his bags, two iron bands,
As if to bear them into hell.

He sank upon the nameless stone
With oh such sad, such piteous moan
As never man might seek to know
From man’s most unforgiving foe.

He sighed at last, so long, so deep,
As one heart breaking in one’s sleep,—
One long, last, weary, willing sigh,
As if it were a grace to die.

And then his hands, like loosened bands,
Hung down, hung down on either side;
His hands hung down and opened wide:
He rested in the orange lands.

University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.

Transcriber’s Note. The following emendations have been made to the text: