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250 So patiently she bears with me the gnawing hunger-pain, The bitter cold, and choking fog, and heavy blinding rain I wish the stars would shine out once, before another day- There are no stars, so father said, in Heaven far away. Cling closer, closer, little Fan, and let me feel you near; I cannot see nor hear you now — I'm growing stupid, dear; And yet just now there seemed to come an awful flash of light: I wish you had gone first, my dog ! — my little Fan, Good-night!