XII.
Good night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share:
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daff’d me to a cabin hang’d with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
She bade good night that kept my rest away;
And daff’d me to a cabin hang’d with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
| ’Farewell,’ quoth she, ’and come again tomorrow:’ |
| Fare well I could not, for I supp’d with sorrow. |
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
’T may be, she joy’d to jest at my exile,
’T may be, again to make me wander thither:
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
’T may be, she joy’d to jest at my exile,
’T may be, again to make me wander thither:
| ’Wander,’ a word for shadows like myself, |
| As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf. |
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