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She beca to force his will upon

her, so he wanted, as he lay there

dark and tense And her soul sighed in weariness

Everything was so vague and lovely, and he wanted to wake her

up to the hard, hostile reality She drew back in resistance

Still he said nothing But she felt his power persisting on her,

till she becaainst the

exhaustion He was forcing her, he was forcing her And she

wanted so nancy She did not want his bitter-corrosive love, she

did not want it poured into her, to burn her Why must she have

it? Why, oh, as he not content, contained?

She sat many hours by the , in those days when he drove

her most with the black constraint of his will, and she watched

the rain falling on the yew trees She was not sad, only

wistful, blanched The child under her heart was a perpetual

warmth And she was sure The pressure was only upon her from

the outside, her soul had no stripes

Yet in her heart itself was always this same strain, tense,

anxious She was not safe, she was always exposed, she was

always attacked There was a yearning in her for a fulness of

peace and blessedness What a heavy yearning it was--so

heavy