And to that he clung, and in silence swung
betwixt us and the blue,
And as soon as a man could run I ran the way I
had seen them flee,
And I came mad-eyed to the chasm's side, and—
what do you think I see?
All up? Not quite. Still hanging? Right!
but he'd torn away the shrub;
With lolling tongue, he clutched and swung—
to what? Ay, that's the rub!