| The Foreboding... Robert Graves... |
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Looking by chance in at the open window I saw my own self seated in his chair With gaze abstracted, furrowed forehead, Unkempt hair. |
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I thought that I had suddenly come to die, That to a cold corpse this was my farewell, Until the pen moved slowly upon paper And tears fell. |
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He had written a name, yours, in printed letters: One word or which bemusedly to pore- No protest, no desire, your naked name, Nothing more. |
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Would it be tomorrow, would it be next year? But the vision was not false, this much I knew; And I turned angrily from the open window Aghast at you. |
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Why never a warning, either by speech or look, That the love you cruelly gave me could not last? Already it was too late: the bait swallowed, The hook fast. |
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