Be sure I looked up at her eyes
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Happy and proud; at last I knew
And give herself to me for ever.
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And, last, she sat down by my side
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
I warily oped her lids: again
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Three times her little throat around,
Her darling one wish would be heard.
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
In one long yellow string I wound
And yet God has not said a word!
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
And did its worst to vex the lake:
About her neck; her cheek once more
A sudden thought of one so pale
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
And all night long we have not stirred,
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
Murmuring how she loved me — she
And called me. When no voice replied,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her head, which droops upon it still:
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
She put my arm about her waist,
And I untightened next the tress
I listened with heart fit to break.
That all it scorned at once is fled,
For love of her, and all in vain:
A thing to do, and all her hair
But passion sometimes would prevail,
And thus we sit together now,
The smiling rosy little head,
So, she was come through wind and rain.
And all her yellow hair displaced,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
So glad it has its utmost will,
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
To set its struggling passion free
When glided in Porphyria; straight
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
The rain set early in to-night,
While I debated what to do.
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
Perfectly pure and good: I found
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
Which done, she rose, and from her form