Only You're Right In Saying She's Too

We Do Not Look For Reason For Logic In The Passionate Entreaties Of Those Who Are Sick Unto Death; We Are Stung With The Recollection Of A Thousand Slighted Opportunities Of Fulfilling The Wishes Of Those Who Will Soon Pass Away From Among Us: And Do They Ask Us For The Future Happiness Of Our Lives, We Lay It At Their Feet, And Will It Away From Us.

Margaret The Churchwoman, Her Father The Dissenter, Higgins The Infidel, Knelt Down Together. It Did Them No Harm.

A Great Matter Calls Her Son With Terms Like Deal, And Love.

How Am I To Dress Up In My Finery, And Go Off And Away To Smart Parties, After The Sorrow I Have Seen Today?

She Lay Down And Never Stirred. To Move Hand Or Foot, Or Even So Much As One Finger, Would Have Been An Exertion Beyond The Powers Of Either Volition Or Motion. She Was So Tired, So Stunned, That She Thought She Never Slept At All; Her Feverish Thoughts Passed And Repassed The Boundary Between Sleeping And Waking, And Kept Their Own Miserable Identity.