Chapter 140 No.140

At the word,

The form, I looked to have been stirred

With pity and approval, rose

O'er me, as when the headsman throws

Axe over shoulder to make end-

I fell prone, letting Him expend

His wrath, while thus the inflicting voice

Smote me. "Is this thy final choice?

Love is the best? 'Tis somewhat late!

And all thou dost enum