396
There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain
'Tis Pain's Successor—When the Soul
Has suffered all it can
A Drowsiness—diffuses
A Dimness like a Fog
Envelops Consciousness
As Mists—obliterate a Crag
The Surgeon—does not blanch—at pain
His Habit—is severe
But tell him that it ceased to feel
The Creature lying there
And he will tell you—sk** is late
A Mightier than He
Has ministered before Him
There's no Vitality