human
Pray you keep it secret. Then the whole Of the cruel tale was told. What more? She died. Her kin, profuse of thanks, not bitterly, Wrote of the end.
gpt
Our sister fain had seen Her husband; prayed him sore to come. But no. And then she prayed him that he would forgive, Madam, her breaking of the truth to you. Dear madam, he was angry, yet we think He might have let her see, before she died, The words she wanted, but he did not write Till she was gone--'I neither can forgive, Nor would I if I could.'
human
Patience, my heart! And this, then, is the man I loved! But yet He sought a lower level, for he wrote Telling the story with a different hue, Telling of freedom. He desired to come,
gpt
For now, said he,
human
O love, may all be well. And she rose up against it in her soul, For she despised him. And with passionate tears Of shame, she wrote, and only wrote these words,--
gpt
Herbert, I will not see you. Then she drooped Again; it is so bitter to despise; And all her strength, when autumn leaves down dropped, Fell from her.
human
Ah! she thought,
gpt
I rose up once, I cannot rise up now; here is the end. And all her kinsfolk thought,
human
It is the end.
gpt
It is the end,