And a struggle—is all I know of death.
XXVII.
’Twas over! But then my death began;
I was a disembodied man!
Blind, and alone, and alive—but where!
I was falling, and floating, and flitting through air;
There was darkness here, there was darkness there;
Oh where was I, poor soul!
I had never a voice, and never a tongue,
And I felt no limbs, but still I was flung