Urges, she cannot perceive; but prefers
The simple faith of her own sweet plan,
And the brothers in Heaven still are hers.
The very last day that Harry was here
I read him those verses, and Harry smil'd;
And we held some converse, divinely dear,
Which was all about that dear little child.
Is it for this that I think of it now?
Is it for this he let seven words fall?
O pulses are beating behind my brow,