Fell on thy face like rain,—a woman’s trick!
When baffled Death was tugging at thy throat,
Her gentle prayers rose to the gate of Heaven,
Mingled with the insensate blasphemies
Of thy delirium—account it naught!
Go to thy labour—get thy spade and dig,
And when a foolish sob of gratitude
Rises unbidden to thy choking throat”
(They sometimes will—one can’t be sure of them),
“Swear a big oath and whistle it away,