By bulging rock and gaping cleft,
Even of half mere reft,
Rueful he peered to right and left,
Muttering in his altered mood: 160
'The fate is hard that weaves my weft,
Though my lot be good.
Even of half mere reft,
Rueful he peered to right and left,
Muttering in his altered mood: 160
'The fate is hard that weaves my weft,
Though my lot be good.
Christina Rossetti
