. . .Three days, three nights, Were one to her, Who never closed her eyes From sunset to sunrise, From dawn to evenfall: Her tearless, staring eyes, That, seeing naught, saw all. The fourth night when I came from work, I found her at my door. "And will you cut a stone for him?" She said: and spoke no more: But followed me, as I went in, And sank upon a chair; And fixed her grey eyes on my face, With still, unseeing stare. And, as she waited patiently, I could not bear to feel Those still, grey eyes that followed me, Those eyes that plucked the heart from me, Those eyes that sucked the breath from me And curdled the warm blood in me, Those eyes that cut me to the bone, And pierced my marrow like cold steel. And so I rose, and sought a stone; And cut it, smooth and square: And, as I worked, she sat and watched, Beside me, in her chair. . . . Read More