And in my late-to-bed eyes I have damage,Bewailing what concerned thee, those torch-holdingsFor ever unattended to. In dreams — why,Beneath the light wing-beats o’ the gnat, I woke upAs he went buzzing — sorrows that concerned theeSeeing, that filled more than their fellow-sleep-time.Now, all this having suffered, from soul grief-freeI would style this man here the dog o’ the stables,