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THE RING
Were warm upon my check, an icy breath,As from the grating of a sepulchre,Past over both. I told her of my vow,No pliable idiot I to break my vow;But still she made her outcry for the ring;For one monotonous fancy madden'd her,Till I myself was madden'd with her cry,And even that 'Io t'amo,' those three sweetItalian words, became a weariness. My people too were scared with eerie sounds,A footstep, a low throbbing in the walls,A noise of falling weights that never fell,Weird whispers, bells that rang without a hand,Door-handles turn'd when none was at the door,And bolted doors that open'd of themselves:And one betwixt the dark and light had seenHer, bending by the cradle of her babe.
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