THE rain set early in to-night,   The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite,   And did its worst to vex the lake:   I listen'd with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight   She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate   Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;   Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,   And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall,   And, last, she sat down by my side   And call'd me. When no voice replied, She put my arm about her waist,   And made her smooth white shoulder bare, And all her yellow hair displaced,   And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,   And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair, Murmuring how she loved me—she   Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour, To set its struggling passion free   From pride, and vainer ties dissever,   And give herself to me for ever. But passion sometimes would prevail,   Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain A sudden thought of one so pale   For love of her, and all in vain:   So, she was come through wind and rain. Be sure I look'd up at her eyes   Happy and proud; at last I knew Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise   Made my heart swell, and still it grew   While I debated what to do. That moment she was mine, mine, fair,   Perfectly pure and good: I found A thing to do, and all her hair   In one long yellow string I wound   Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she;   I am quite sure she felt no pain. As a shut bud that holds a bee,   I warily oped her lids: again   Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain. And I untighten'd next the tress   About her neck; her cheek once more Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss:   I propp'd her head up as before,   Only, this time my shoulder bore Her head, which droops upon it still:   The smiling rosy little head, So glad it has its utmost will,   That all it scorn'd at once is fled,   And I, its love, am gain'd instead! Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how   Her darling one wish would be heard. And thus we sit together now,   And all night long we have not stirr'd,   And yet God has not said a word!