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 "I was afraid, this time, but not of man— Or man as you may figure him," he said. "It was not anything my eyes had seen That I could feel around me in the night, There by that lake. If I had been alone, There would have been the joy of being free, Which in imagination I had won With unimaginable expiation— But I was not alone. If you had seen me, Waiting there for the dark and looking off Over the gloom of that relentless water, Which had the stillness of the end of things That evening on it, I might well have made For you the picture of the last man left Where God, in his extinction of the rest, Had overlooked him and forgotten him. Yet I was not alone. Interminably