"Mariana in the
moated Grange."--Measure for Measure.
With blackest moss the flower-pots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds looked sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
Her tears fell with the dews at even
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried
She could not look on the sweet heaven
Either at morn or eventide
After the flitting of bats
When thickest dark did trance the sky
She drew her casement curtain by
And glanced athwart the glooming flats
She only said the night is dreary
He cometh not she said
She said I am aweary aweary
I would that I were dead
Upon the middle of the night
Waking she heard the night fowl crow
The cock sung out an hour ere light
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her without hope of change
In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn
Till cold winds woke the gray eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange
She only said the day is dreary
He cometh not she said
She said I am aweary aweary
I would that I were dead
About a stone cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept
And o'er it many round and small
The cluster'd marish mosses crept
Hard by a poplar shook alway
All silver green with gnarlèd bark
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste the rounding gray
She only said my life is dreary
He cometh not she said
She said I am aweary aweary
I would that I were dead
And ever when the moon was low
And the shrill winds were up and away
In the white curtain to and fro
She saw the gusty shadows sway
But when the moon was very low
And wild winds bound within their cell
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed across her brow
She only said the night is dreary
He cometh not she said
She said I am aweary aweary
I would that I were dead
All day withing the dreamy house
The doors upon their hinges creak'd
The blue fly sung in the pane the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd
Or from the crevice peered about
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors
Old footsteps trod the upper floors
Old voices called her from without
She only said my life is dreary
He cometh not she said
She said I am aweary aweary
I would that I were dead
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof
The slow clock ticking and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made did all confound
Her sense but most she loathed the hour
When the thick moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower
Then she said I am very dreary
He will not come she said
She wept I am aweary aweary
O god that I were dead
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