The strong spasmodic weeping of a man.
And all that night in Michael’s tent there burned,
Though foul with smoke, and swayed by gusty winds,
A strong bright torch, fit emblem of his soul,
That keen lamp of God’s lighting bright and strong.
While, looking on a tress of golden hair
That lay before him, all night long he sate;
This was the man who left in days gone by,
A friend, and a friend’s sister, dear as he—
A most kind mother, sinking with her cares—