My soul should bleed its dear strength out in tears,
Why would it not be mercy to myself
For me to check the longer, stronger woe
By shedding here some drops of weaker blood,
Now, once for all?”
“O dear Doretta mine,”
I cried, and still more anxious, “do you mean”—
“This,” answer’d she; “I mean that I would cut
My body’s life in two parts, rather than
My soul’s life.”