XXVIII.
Reading edition
AT LENGTH.
Her final summer was it, And yet we guessed it not; If tenderer industriousness Pervaded her, we thought
A further force of life Developed from within, — When Death lit all the shortness up, And made the hurry plain.
We wondered at our blindness, — When nothing was to see But her Carrara guide-post, — At our stupidity,
When, duller than our dulness, The busy darling lay, So busy was she, finishing, So leisurely were we!