While some discuss if near the other gravesīe room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves: And still the man hears all, and only craves "And the blow fallen no grieving can amend ") Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bid the other go, draw breath Freelier outside ("since all is o'er," he saith, My heart made, finding failure in its scope. What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring, I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, So much as gladness that some end might be. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed: neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried, ![]() Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower. What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph What else should he be set for, with his staff? Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the working of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee that pursed and scored ![]() My first thought was, he lied in every word, 2422 "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came" Robert Browning I.
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