leters ....

Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too; Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to; Some but a day in their churchyard bed; Some that I had not known were dead. A long, long crowd—where each seem'd lonely, Yet of them all there was one, one only, Raised a head or look'd my way: She linger'd a moment—she might not stay. How long since I saw that fair pale face! Ah! Mother dear! might I only place My head on thy breast, a moment to rest, While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!

Balises:

gothic

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