And the grey gentle stones, with rain still sweet.
So for nine days I suffered this man’s curse,
And lived with him, and lived his life, and ached;
And this vicarious suffering was far worse
Than my own pain had been.... But when I waked,
His pain, my sorrow, were together flown;
My grief had lived and died; and the sun shone.
There was a woman lived by Bloomsbury Square—
She is no more to me; I could not sorrow