Christina Rossetti — Standing afar off for the fear of her torment

Is this the end? is there no end but this? Yea, none beside: No other end for pride And foulness and besottedness. Hath she no friend? hath she no clinging friend? Nay, none at all; Who stare upon her fall Quake for themselves with hair on end. Will she be done away? vanish away? Yea, like a dream; Yea, like the shades that seem Somewhat, and lo! are nought by day. Alas for her amid man's helpless moan, Alas for her! She hath no comforter: In solitude of fire she sits alone.