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 As by a staring day. I knew that face— His, who did hate me—his, whom I did hate!

I shrunk not—spake not—sprang not from the ground! But felt my lips shake without cry or breath, And mine heart wrestle in my breast to still The tossing of its pulses; and a cold, Instead of living blood, o'ercreep my brow. Albeit such darkness brooded all around, I had dread knowledge that the open eyes Of that dead man were glaring up to mine, With their unwinking, unexpressive stare; And mine I could not shut nor turn away. The man was my familiar. I had borne Those eyes to scowl on me their living hate, Better than I could bear their deadliness: I had endured the curses of those lips, Far better than their silence. Oh constrain'd And awful silence!—awful peace of death!