What of the Darkness? Is it very fair?
What sudden pangs shot thro’ each aching heart,
When, Death, thy messenger dispatch’d his dart?
Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,
Nothing but bones,
The sad effect of sadder groans:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.
She sinks in death ⎯ th’ astonish’d soul, dismay’d,
Bursts thro’ the doors of life, and seeks more friendly skies.
"I'm not weary, I don't WANT to rest," Judy said, in a fretful tone.
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,