Far richer gifts, and teach him ’twas a trifle
He prized before!
Teresa.
Nay, nay—I need not this.
My heart is senseless. It is cold—cold—cold!
Steeled in an apathy more deep than wo,
Which even keen thought can never pierce again.
What nights of feverish unrest I’ve borne,
What days of weeping and of bitterness,
When I have schooled me to a mocking calmness,