Until he passed from sight; then, sinking low
Among the flowers, she wept, she knew not why.
And, as the door closed on him, Oswald fell
Prone on the cold, black, vigil-furrowed rock
That paved his narrow cell; and long he lay
As in the clutch of some dread waking-trance,
Nor stirred until the shadows into night
Were woven. Then unto his feet he leapt
With this wild cry: "O God, why hast Thou sent
This scourge most bitter for my naked soul?