WIDOW'S WORDS.
95
The fight is at its hottest, only nowTh' unflinching escort from my side is flown;The web is on my fingers, but the rayThat made its fineness beautiful, dies down.
And thus I sit, bewildered in my grief,Or walk beneath the burthen of my doubt,Striving, with little heart, to do and bear,Since Time is left, with daylight blotted out.
