Poetry Archives

For days thereafter Eunice lived retired,
 Waited upon by one old serving-maid.
She would not leave her chamber, and desired
 Only to hide herself.  She was afraid
Of what her eyes might trick her into seeing,
 Of what her longing urge her then to do.
    What was this dreadful illness solitude
 Had tortured her into?
Her hours went by in a long constant fleeing
The thought of that one morning.  And her being
    Bruised itself on a happening so rude.