The woods are dark and damp tonight.
"O . . . I am blind . . . without a light . . ."
I stumble lost, from tree to tree --
Yet Life means nothing else to me
Than here to search . . . where she might be.
If I could find my way alone
I would not be here on my own;
But . . . I would watch -- with someone else.
Not search here blindly by myself.
Where is she now? --
God, she never liked these woods:
I love to breathe them even in the dark.
--But she preferred her cosy fire
When I had . . . stirrings of desire . . .
Gone. Gone forever.
Useless to cry.
-- I must move to our house alone.
Bear up in misery. Live.
Good; it's good to know these woods alone.
Much better -- not to live like stone.
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