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Where are my faithful guides now? where those bright
whirling lights? On the day I die shall I see him again? surely no-one could be expected to stand this living death for so long for nothing. When shall I hear him, his welcoming tone and words like these: "Live, dry your eyes; you've cried enough; here he is, the strength you existed upon, he God gave you." I ache to be allowed to kiss the hand I long to touch, speak to it more than once of my incomparable grief? A happiness beyond all, if ruthless Lady Luck does not prevent me, grants this, the hot desire in me be sated. |
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Notes: From B A2:37:74. In MS RA. Key |