He called me foolish, couldn’t understand.
I rode alone—not south, but to the Grand.
Daylong my horse beat thunder from the sod,
Accusing me; and all my prayers to God
Seemed flung in vain at bolted gates of brass.
And in the night the wind among the grass
Hissed endlessly the story of my shame.
“I do not know how long I rode: I came
Upon the Grand at last, and found the place,
And it was empty. Not a sign or trace