Or listen'd at the open doors,
To hear his footsteps tread the floors
With the short hurried pace of doubt.
She only said, "My master's weary,
And angry, too," she said;
She said, "Oh deary me! oh deary!
I wish he'd go to bed."
The crickets chirrup on the hearth,
The slow clock ticking—and the sound
Of rain upon the gravel path