Watching. It stirs not. Is it a tree-stem
Gives body to the dark? No tree was there.
(She drops the curtain.)
Can someone have found out the secret way
And even now be spying on Launcelot?
Pray Heaven he comes not! Why is the air so still
With such a mortal stillness?
There’s the owl again, crying, and there again!
As if it knew the secret of the night
And called me warning notes. Was that a step?