Unrequited Love.Nothingis more touching than unrequited love, and unreturned friendship. I can go through all the sorrow and the sadness it must excite—the heart thrown back, the hand rejected. There is then but one shelter, one repose; it turns in upon itself, and stings that self to death!—to death? yes, the heart to death—cinder powder! and the poor frame walks about, a wonder and a speculation to its neighbour.
Unrequited Love.Nothingis more touching than unrequited love, and unreturned friendship. I can go through all the sorrow and the sadness it must excite—the heart thrown back, the hand rejected. There is then but one shelter, one repose; it turns in upon itself, and stings that self to death!—to death? yes, the heart to death—cinder powder! and the poor frame walks about, a wonder and a speculation to its neighbour.
Nothingis more touching than unrequited love, and unreturned friendship. I can go through all the sorrow and the sadness it must excite—the heart thrown back, the hand rejected. There is then but one shelter, one repose; it turns in upon itself, and stings that self to death!—to death? yes, the heart to death—cinder powder! and the poor frame walks about, a wonder and a speculation to its neighbour.