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<T MAUD>
<P PART I>
<P I>
<S I>
I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood,
Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red
heath.
The red-ribbed ledges drip with a silent horror of
blood,
And Echo there, whatever is asked her, answers
`Death.'
<S II>
For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was
found,
His who had given me life - O father! O God! was it
well?-
There yet lies the rock that fell with him when he fell.
<S III>
Did he fling himself down? who knows? for a vast
speculation had failed,
And ever he muttered and maddened, and ever
wanned with despair,
And out he walked when the wind like a broken
worlding wailed,
And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove
through the air.
<S IV>
I remember the time, for the roots of my hair were
stirred
By a shuffled step, by a dead weight trailed, by a
whispered fright,
And my pulses closed their gates with a shock on my
heart as I heard
The shrill-edged shriek of a . . .
