Soul Sentiment from the Nineteenth Century
I onward go, I stop,With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I never knew you,Yet I think…
I onward go, I stop,With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds;I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable;One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I never knew you,Yet I think…