So loudly roared the beck
In spate, I did not hear
His footstep drawing near,
Or the lifting of the sneck.

And yet, I was aware,
As in the ingleseat
I brooded by the peat,
That he was standing there.

I never looked around;
And he must have gone again
Into the wind and rain;
Though I only heard the sound

Of the roaring beck in spate,
As in the ingleseat
I brooded by the peat
On the love that comes too late.