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I lay on the cold stones and wept aloud, And prayed the fever to return again And bring death with it. Yet did I escape,— Again I drank the fresh blue air of heaven, And felt the sunshine laugh upon my brow; I thought then I would seek my desolate home, And die where it had been. I reached the place: The ground was bare and scorched, and in the midst Was a black heap of ashes. Frantickly I groped amid them, ever and anon Meeting some human fragment, skulls and bones Shapeless and cinders, till I drew a curl, A long and beautiful curl of sunny hair, Stainless and golden, as but then just severed, A love gift from the head: I knew the hair— It was my daughter's! There I stood, and howled