And if 'twas a crime, you did not the deed.
I am fighting with life, with death I strive;
Ready for neither; both crush with their might;
Only those seven words keep me alive—
You said 'you shall follow me,' and 'I'll write.'
They stealthily talk; I hear what they say—
Sharply she hears who each syllable dreads—
Glancing at me in significant way,
Touching their foreheads and shaking their heads.
'Mad?'—'not exactly—bewilder'd—confus'd;