Somewhile

Tho, under colour of shepeheards, somewhile / There crept in wolves, ful of fraude and guile.

Of him that spoke, and stopped at last, and sat Still, underneath where Gris Grillon was laid, And heard, somewhile, with languid scornful gaze, The friar putting blame on priest and knight.

Somewhile before the dawn I rose, and stept Softly along the dim way to your room, And found you sleeping in the quiet gloom