IX
I cannot tell; I wish I could;
For the true reason no one knows:
But if you’d gladly view the spot,
The spot to which she goes;
The Heap that’s like an infant’s grave,
The Pond—and Thorn, so old and gray;
Pass by her door—’tis seldom shut—
And, if you see her in her hut,
Then to the spot away!—
I never heard of such as dare
Approach the spot when she is there.