The fire on the hearth is built of shipwreck wood, which tells of
a "dim dead woe befallen this bitter coast of France",
and omens to her foreboding heart the shipwreck of their home.
The ruddy shaft of light from the casement must, she thinks,
be seen by sailors who envy the warm safe house and happy freight.
But there are ships in port which go to ruin,

"All through worms i' the wood, which crept,
Gnawed our hearts out while we slept:
That is worse."

Her mind reverts to the former occupants of their house,
as if she felt an influence shed within it by some unhappy woman who,
like herself, in Love's voyage, saw planks start and open hell beneath.

III. `In the Doorway'. -- As she looks out from the doorway,
everything tells of the coming desolation of winter,
and reflects the desolation which, she feels, is coming upon herself.
The swallows are ready to depart, the water is in stripes, black,
spotted white with the wailing wind. The furled leaf of the fig-tree,
in front of their house, and the writhing vines, sympathize with
her heart and her spirit: --

"My heart shrivels up and my spirit shrinks curled."

But there is to them two, she thinks, no real outward want,
that should mar their peace, small as is their house,
and poor their field. Why should the change in nature bring change
to the spirit which should put life in the darkness and cold?