I answered her, “I love you, too;
But it can never be the same;
She was no Countess like to you,
Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame.” 
Oh the wild look of fear and dread! 
The cry she gave of bitter woe! 
I often wonder what I said
To make her moan and shudder so. 
Through the long night she tended me
With such sweet care and charity. 
But should weary you to tell
All that I know and love so well: 
Yet one night more stands out alone
With a sad sweetness all its own.

The wind blew loud that dreary night: 
Its wailing voice I well remember: 
The stars shone out so large and bright
Upon the frosty fir-boughs white,
That dreary night of cold December. 
I saw old Walter silent stand,
Watching the soft white flakes of snow
With looks I could not understand,
Of strange perplexity and woe. 
At last he turned and took my hand,
And said the Countess just had sent
To bid us come; for she would fain
See me once more, before she went
Away—­never to come again. 
We came in silence through the wood
(Our footfall was the only sound)
To where the great white castle stood,
With darkness shadowing it around. 
Breathless, we trod with cautious care
Up the great echoing marble stair;
Trembling, by Walter’s hand I held,
Scared by the splendours I beheld: 
Now thinking, “Should the Earl appear!”
Now looking up with giddy fear
To the dim vaulted roof, that spread
Its gloomy arches overhead. 
Long corridors we softly past,
(My heart was beating loud and fast)
And reached the Lady’s room at last: 
A strange faint odour seemed to weigh
Upon the dim and darkened air;
One shaded lamp, with softened ray,
Scarce showed the gloomy splendour there. 
The dull red brands were burning low,
And yet a fitful gleam of light,
Would now and then, with sudden glow,
Start forth, then sink again in night. 
I gazed around, yet half in fear,
Till Walter told me to draw near: 
And in the strange and flickering light,
Towards the Lady’s bed I crept;
All folded round with snowy white,
She lay; (one would have said she slept;)
So still the look of that white face,
It seemed as it were carved in stone,
I paused before I dared to place
Within her cold white hand my own. 
But, with a smile of sweet surprise,
She turned to me her dreamy eyes;
And slowly, as if life were pain,
She drew me in her arms to lie: 
She strove to speak, and strove in vain;
Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh. 
The throbs that seemed to shake her breast,
The trembling clasp, so loose and weak,
At last grew calmer, and at rest;
And then she strove once more to speak: 
“My God, I thank thee, that my pain
Of day by day and year by year,
Has not been suffered all in vain,
And I may die while he is near. 
I will not fear but that Thy grace