The Gaze

He took me by the wrist and held me hard.

Then goes he to the length of all his arm,

And with his other hand thus o'er his brow

He falls to such perusal of my face

As 'a would draw it. Long stayed he so.

(How should I your true-love know from another one?)

At last, a little shaking of my arm

And thrice his head thus waving up and down,

He raised a sigh so piteous and profound

As it did seem to shatter all his bulk

And end his being. That done, he lets me go;

(By his cockle hat and staff

And his sandal shoon)

And, with his head o'er his shoulder turn'd,

He seemed to find his without his eyes,

For out of doors he went without their helps

And to the last bended their light on me.

(He is dead and gone, lady.

He is dead and gone.

At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.)