Page:Enoch Arden, etc - Tennyson - 1864.djvu/108

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AYLMER’S FIELD.
Left on another, or is it a light thingThat I their guest, their host, their ancient friend, I made by these the last of all my raceMust cry to these the last of theirs, as criedChrist ere His agony to those that sworeNot by the temple but the gold, and madeTheir own traditions God, and slew the Lord,And left their memories a world's curse—"Behold,Your house is left unto you desolate?"'
 Ended he had not, but she brook'd no more: Long since her heart had beat remorselessly, Her crampt-up sorrow pain'd her, and a sense Of meanness in her unresisting life. Then their eyes vext her; for on entering He had cast the curtains of their seat aside— Black velvet of the costliest—she herself Had seen to that: fain had she closed them now, Yet dared not stir to do it, only near'd Her husband inch by inch, but when she laid,
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