Gaze no more in the bitter glass The Demons, with their subtle guile Lift up before us when they pass, Or only gaze a little while; For there a fatal image grows That the stormy night recieves, Roots half hidden under snows, Broken boughs and blackened leaves. For all things turn to barreness In the dim glass the demons hold, The glass of outer weariness Made when God slept in times of old. *** They tender eyes grow all unkind: Gaze no more in the bitter glass
Galway was like a different world.
Already she knew that Paul had begun to move into the past; he would return often without warning to trouble her, like a forgotten embarrassment, but he would never deliberately be recalled.