Her velvet foot amid the moss
And on the daisies patted,
As, querulous with sense of loss,
It tore the herbage matted;
“And come he early, come he late,”
She saith “it will undo me;
The sharp fore-speeded shaft of fate
Already quivers through me.
“When I beheld his red-roan steed,
I knew what aim impelled it;