My first thought was, he lied in every word,
  That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
  Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression deg. of the glee, that pursed and scored deg.5
  Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

What else should he be set for, with his staff? 
  What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
  All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road?  I guessed what skull-like laugh 10
Would break, what crutch ’gin write deg. my epitaph deg.11
  For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,

If at his counsel I should turn aside
  Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
  Hides the Dark Tower.  Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed:  neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried. 
  So much as gladness that some end might be.

For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
  What, with my search drawn out thro’ years, my hope 20
  Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,—­
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
  My heart made, finding failure in its scope.

As when a sick man very near to death
  Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
  The tears, and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside, ("since all is o’er,” he saith,
  “And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;”) 30

While some discuss if near the other graves
  Be room enough for this, and when a day
  Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
With care about the banners, scarves, and staves: 
And still the man hears all, and only craves
  He may not shame such tender love and stay.

Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
  Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
  So many times among “The Band”—­to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower’s search addressed 40
Their steps—­that just to fail as they, seemed best,
  And all the doubt was now—­should I be fit?

So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
  That hateful cripple, out of his highway
  Into the path he pointed.  All the day
Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
  Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. deg. deg.48

For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
  Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, 50
  Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
O’er the safe road, ’twas gone; gray plain all round: 
Nothing but plain to the horizon’s bound,
  I might go on; naught else remained to do.

So, on I went.  I think I never saw
  Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: 
  For flowers—­as well expect a cedar grove! 
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
  You’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove. 60