Pickthorn Manor: 56

Amy Lowell

He could not credit it, and misery fed
 Upon his spirit, day by day it grew.
To Gervase he forbade the house, and led
 The Lady Eunice such a life she flew
At his approaching footsteps.  Winter came
 Snowing and blustering through the Manor trees.
    All the roof-edges spiked with icicles
 In fluted companies.
The Lady Eunice with her tambour-frame
Kept herself sighing company.  The flame
    Of the birch fire glittered on the walls.

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