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Updated: May 11, 2025
And knowing them, and having suffered, and sick at heart as she was, standing by this window in the dead of night, the cry that shook her softly was not of her new life, but of the old, primitive, child-like. 'Pasagathe, omarki kethose kolokani vorgantha pestorondikat Oni. "A spear hath pierced me, and the smart of the nettle is in my wound.
Maker of the soft night, bind my wounds with sleep, lest I cry out and be a coward and unworthy." Again and again, unconsciously, the words passed from her lips 'Vorganthe, pestorondikat Oni. At last she let down the blind, came to the bed, and once more gathered her child in her arms with an infinite hunger. This love was hers rich, untrammelled, and so sacred.
And knowing them, and having suffered, and sick at heart as she was, standing by this window in the dead of night, the cry that shook her softly was not of her new life, but of the old, primitive, child-like. 'Pasagathe, omarki kethose kolokani vorgantha pestorondikat Oni. "A spear hath pierced me, and the smart of the nettle is in my wound.
Maker of the soft night, bind my wounds with sleep, lest I cry out and be a coward and unworthy." Again and again, unconsciously, the words passed from her lips 'Vorganthe, pestorondikat Oni. At last she let down the blind, came to the bed, and once more gathered her child in her arms with an infinite hunger. This love was hers rich, untrammelled, and so sacred.
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