There’s a settled grief on his furrowed face;
While she goes wearily groping[1179] about
In a sort of dream, so bent, so sad!
But this won’t do![1180] I must sing and shout,
And forget myself, or else go mad.[1181]
I won’t be foolish; although for a minute[1182]
I was there[1183] in my little room once more.
What wouldn’t I give just now to be in it?
The bed is yonder,[1184] and there[1185]is the door;
The Bible is here[1186] on the neat, white stand;