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Updated: May 9, 2025
"There is folks that take quite enough workless days, an' laughless days, an' pityless days, an' thankless days. My lan', there ain't no end to them kind, as any one can see. An' there was them heatless days last winter I guess no one was hankerin' for more of THEM. Oh, 'course I understand that that was just preservation of coal, an' that 'twas necessary, an' all that.
I should there find solitude where I might weep, and the voices of life might never reach me. But my father; my beloved and most wretched father? Would he die? Would he never overcome the fierce passion that now held pityless dominion over him? Might he not many, many years hence, when age had quenched the burning sensations that he now experienced, might he not then be again a father to me?
"Oh Ye Gods why should my Poor resistless Heart Stand to oppose thy might and Power At last surrender to Cupid's feather'd Dart And now lays bleeding every Hour For her that's Pityless of my grief and Woes, And will not on me Pity take.
Nor was this the only rhyme that his emotions led to his inscribing in his journal: and he confided to it the following: "Oh Ye Gods why should my Poor Resistless Heart Stand to oppose thy might and Power At Last surrender to cupids feather'd Dart And now lays Bleeding every Hour For her that's Pityless of my grief and Woes And will not on me Pity take He sleep amongst my most inveterate Foes And with gladness never wish to wake In deluding sleepings let my Eyelids close That in an enraptured Dream I may In a soft lulling sleep and gentle repose Possess those joys denied by Day."
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