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vv. 1–17.

waste of year-long vigil I have prayed

God for some respite, watching elbow-stayed,

As sleuthhounds watch, above the Atreidae's hall,

Till well I know yon midnight festival

Of swarming stars, and them that lonely go,

Bearers to man of summer and of snow,

Great lords and shining, throned in heavenly fire.

And still I await the sign, the beacon pyre

That bears Troy's capture on a voice of flame

Shouting o'erseas. So surely to her aim

Cleaveth a woman's heart, man-passionèd!

And when I turn me to my bed—my bed

Dew-drenched and dark and stumbling, to which near

Cometh no dream nor sleep, but alway Fear

Breathes round it, warning, lest an eye once fain

To close may close too well to wake again;

Think I perchance to sing or troll a tune

For medicine against sleep, the music soon