And windows, and forlornly turning in
Where nothing was but darkness; and in darkness,
Nothing but cobwebs.
Smiling a last smile,
Vindictive, at the sitter, she uprose
And scented the whole night, the outer night
Of fields and barns and houses, as she flew
And flew, tinting earth with a false dawn
As in her brilliant singleness she flew
And flew to be the first where Hermes came.