II.

Then wearily the nurse did throw Her pallet in the darkest place Of that sick room, and slept and dreamed: For, as the gusty wind did blow The night-lamp's flare across her face, She saw or seemed to see, but dreamed, That the poplars tall on the opposite hill, The seven tall poplars on the hill, Did clasp the setting sun until His rays dropped from him, pined and still As blossoms in frost, Till he waned and paled, so weirdly crossed, To the colour of moonlight which doth pass Over the dank ridged churchyard grass. The poplars held the sun, and he The eyes of the nurse that they should not see --Not for a moment, the babe on her knee, Though she shuddered to feel that it grew to be Too chill, and lay too heavily.