His raiment foul, and from the door he pass'd,

And peer'd into the night, and soothly heard

A whisper'd voice; then gripp'd his arrows fast

And strung his bow, and cried a bitter word:

"Art thou a gibbering ghost with war outworn,

And thy faint life in Hades not begun?

Art thou a man that holdst my grief in scorn,

And yet dost live, and look upon the sun?