The Cheval-Glass
Why do you harbour that great cheval-glassFilling up your narrow room?You never preen or plume,Or look in a week at your full-length figure—Picture of bachelor gloom!
“Well, when I dwelt in ancient England,Renting the valley farm,Thoughtless of all heart-harm,I used to gaze at the parson’s daughter,A creature of nameless charm.
“Thither there came a lover and won her,Carried her off from my view.O it was then I knewMisery of a cast undreamt of—More than, indeed, my due!
“Then far rumours of her ill-usageCame, like a chilling breathWhen a man languisheth;Followed by news that her mind lost balance,And, in a space, of her death.
“Soon sank her father; and next was the auction—Everything to be sold:Mid things new and oldStood this glass in her former chamber,Long in her use, I was told.
“Well, I awaited the sale and bought it . . .There by my bed it stands,And as the dawn expandsOften I see her pale-faced form thereBrushing her hair’s bright bands.
“There, too, at pallid midnight momentsQuick she will come to my call,Smile from the frame withalPonderingly, as she used to regard mePassing her father’s wall.
“So that it was for its revelationsI brought it oversea,And drag it about with me . . .Anon I shall break it and bury its fragmentsWhere my grave is to be.”
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