We fear’d for him, lest life should slip its net:
The fleshly cords were worn to film so thin!
But how the soul would shine through them! Its light,
I would not say that it could gladden me,
Yet—strange is it?—while sitting near him then,
The fresh air fanning toward him, which his lungs
Were all too weak to draw there for themselves,
For that so gentle, babelike sufferer,
I lost all fear; and, true to womanhood,
I loved him more for low and helpless moans