At my mother's door I stood and listened: soon I heard my name Pronounced within in spiteful whisperings. I raised the latch, and met her burning eyes. She stared a wild, mad stare, then raised herself, And in weak fury poured upon my head The vials of her wrath. I stood like stone, Without the power to speak, the while she rained Her maledictions on me, and in words Fit only for the damned, accused my life Of crimes my language could not name, and deeds Which only outcast wretches know. At length, I gained my tongue, and tried to take her hand; But with a shriek which cut me like a knife She shrank from me, and hid her quivering face Within her pillow. Then I turned away, And sought the room where oft in better days We both had knelt together at my bed, And, making fast my door, I threw myself Prone on the precious couch, and gave to grief My strong and stormy nature. All the day With bursts of passion I bewailed my loss, Or lay benumbed in feeling and in thought, Tasting no food, and shutting out my soul From all approach of human sympathy, Till the light waned, and through the leafless boughs Of the old elm I caught the sheen of stars. Then sleep descended--such a sleep as comes To uttermost exhaustion,--sleep with dreams Wild as the waking fantasies of her Whose screams and incoherent words gave voice To all their phantom brood. At length I woke. The house was still as death; and yet I heard, Or thought I heard, the touch of crafty feet Upon the carpet, creeping by my door. It passed away, away; and then a pause, Still and presageful as the breathless calm On which the storm-cloud mounts the pallid West, Succeeded. I could hear the parlor-clock Counting the beaded silence, and my bed, Rustling beneath my breathing and my pulse, Was sharply crepitant, and gave me pain. An hour passed by (it loitered like an age), And then came hurried words and hasty fall Of footsteps in the passage. I could hear Screams, sobs, and whispered calls and closing doors And heavy feet that jarred my bed, and shook The windows of my room. I did not stir: I dared not stir, but lay in deathly dread, Waiting the sad denouement. Soon it came. A man approached my door, and tried the latch; Then knocked, and called. I knew the kindly voice Of the physician, and threw back the bolt. Then by the light he held before his face I read the fact of death.