Then,--ah, me! I must sit joyless in my place; bereft, As trees that suddenly have dropped their leaves, And dark as nights that have no moon." She spake: The hope o' the world did hearken, but reply Made none.

He left his hand on her fair locks As she lay sobbing; and the quietness Of night began to comfort her, the fall Of far-off waters, and the winged wind That went among the trees.

The patient hand, Moreover, that was steady, wrought with her, Until she said, "What wilt thou?
Nay, I know.
I therefore answer what thou utterest not.
_Thou lovest me well, and not for thine own will Consentest to depart_.

What more?
Ay, this: _I do avow that He which calleth thee, Hath right to call; and I do swear, the Voice Shall have no let of me, to do Its will_.".