"I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart? I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.
Thou hast call'd me thy angel in moments of bliss, And thy Angel I'd be, 'mid the horrors of this, – Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee, – or perish there too!"
Don't want to see ads? Subscribe now