The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (1.1894)

Aaißoi't'^o/uLei'og

By Arthur Christopher Benson

You were cle.ir as a sandy spring
After a drought, when its waters run
Evenly, sparingly, filtering

Into the eye of the sun.

Love you took with a placid smile,

Pain you bore with a hopeful sigh,

Never a thought of gain or guile
Slept in your wide blue eye.

Suddenly, once, at a trivial word,—

Side by side together we stept,—

Rose a tempest that swayed and stirred ;
Over your soul it swept.

Dismal visitants, suddenly,

Pulled the doors in your house of clay ;
Out of the Windows there stared at me

Something horrible, grey.