rn grey":

"Till I seemed to have and hold
In the vacancy
'Twixt the walls and me
From the hair-plait's chestnut-gold
To the foot in its muslin fold--

Have and hold, then and there,
Her, from head to foot,
Breathing and mute,
Passive and yet aware,
In the grasp of my steady stare--

Hold and have, there and then,
All her body and soul
That completes my whole,
All that women add to men,
In the clutch of my steady ken"--

. . . if so he can sit, never loosing his will, and with a gesture of
his hands that "breaks into very flame," he feels that he _must_ draw
her from "the house called hers, not mine," which soon will seem to
suffocate her if she cannot escape from it:

"Out of doors into the night!
On to the maze
Of the wild wood-ways,
Not turning to left nor right
From the pathway, blind with sight--

Swifter and still more swift,
As the crowding peace
Doth to joy increase
In the wild blind eyes uplift
Thro' the darkness and the drift!"

And he _will_ sit so, feeling his soul dilate, and no muscle shall be
relaxed as he sees his belief come true, and more and more she takes
shape for him, so that she shall be, when she does come, altered even
from what she was at his first seeming to "have and hold her"--for the
lips glow, the cheek burns, the hair, from its plait, breaks loose, and
spreads with "a rich outburst, chestnut gold-interspersed," and the
arms open wide "like the doors of a casket-shrine," as she comes, comes,
comes . . .

"'Now--now'--the door is heard!
Hark, the stairs! and near--
Nearer--and here--
'Now!' and at call the third
She enters without a word!"

* * * * *

Could a woman ever forget the man who should do that with her! Would she
not almost be ready, in such an hour, to die as Porphyria died?

But in _Porphyria's Lover_, not so great a spirit speaks. This man, too,
sitting in his room alone, thinks of the woman he loves, and she comes
to him; but here it is her own will that drives through wind and
rain--there is no compelling glory from the man uncertain still of
passion's answering passion.

"The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,