And I clung, like the wretched mariner,
Unto a straw, I deemed a plank, for life.
Whose voice came o’er the deep and angry sea,
Bidding me be of faith and hope? Speak, now!
What! art thou voiceless? Nearer, bend thine ear!
Nay, shudder not—there’s “method in my madness!”
I would not shriek it out aloud, for fear
The sound might create revelry in Hell!
Not the one I loved.
Not hers, whose every thought was mine—not hers,