To rest the weary nurse has gone: An eight-day watch had watchèd she, Still rocking beneath sun and moon The baby on her knee, Till Isobel its mother said "The fever waneth--wend to bed, For now the watch comes round to me." II. Then wearily the nurse did throw Her pallet in the darkest place Of that sick room, and slept and dreamed: For, as the gusty wind did blow The night-lamp's flare across her face, She saw or seemed to see, but dreamed, That the poplars tall on the opposite hill, The seven tall poplars on the hill, Did clasp the setting sun until His rays dropped from him, pined and still As blossoms in frost, Till he waned and paled, so weirdly crossed, To the colour of moonlight which doth pass Over the dank ridged churchyard grass. The poplars held the sun, and he The eyes of the nurse that they should not see --Not for a moment, the babe on her knee, Though she shuddered to feel that it grew to be Too chill, and lay too heavily. III. She only dreamed; for all the while 'T was Lady Isobel that kept The little baby: and it slept Fast, warm, as if its mother's smile, Laden with love's dewy weight, And red as rose of Harpocrate Dropt upon its eyelids, pressed Lashes to cheek in a sealèd rest. IV. And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well-- She knew not that she smiled. Against the lattice, dull and wild Drive the heavy droning drops, Drop by drop, the sound being one; As momently time's segments fall On the ear of God, who hears through all Eternity's unbroken monotone: And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well-- She knew not that she smiled. The wind in intermission stops Down in the beechen forest, Then cries aloud As one at the sorest, Self-stung, self-driven, And rises up to its very tops, Stiffening erect the branches bowed, Dilating with a tempest-soul The trees that with their dark hands break Through their own outline, and heavy roll Shadows as massive as clouds in heaven Across the castle lake And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well; She knew not that she smiled; She knew not that the storm was wild; Through the uproar drear she could not hear The castle clock which struck anear-- She heard the low, light breathing of her child. V. O sight for wondering look! While the external nature broke Into such abandonment, While the very mist, heart-rent By the lightning, seemed to eddy Against nature, with a din,-- A sense of silence and of steady Natural calm appeared to come From things without, and enter in The human creature's room. VI.