She dressed in white that morning and she passed So slow, so aimless (@3was@1 she without aim, Without some purpose that she dared not name?) From room to room; and now and then she cast Such piteous love upon me here and there. I rang my Colleague on the phone to say "Write on the board, 'my class won't meet to-day'"; And strove to still my terror and despair That I might conquer hers. -- All, all was vain, And turned to dead-sea apples, ashes all, Or rather into quick-lime in her brain, -- All that I did or said. She heard my call Upon the phone. . . 'My work was more than she,' She thought (and brooded still . . . to set me free). |