Page:Renascenceotherp00milluoft.pdf/57

 like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart.. People twist and scream in pain,- Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start. People dress and go to town; I sit in my chair. All my thoughts are slow and brown: Standing up or sitting down Little matters, or what gown Or what shoes I wear.