This preview shows pages 1–2. Sign up to view the full content.
This preview has intentionally blurred sections. Sign up to view the full version.View Full Document
Unformatted text preview: Th attempt was vainI only felt Intenser pangs and livelier grief. The bud of woe, no more represt, Fed by the tears that drenched it there, Shot forth and filled my labouring breast, Soon to expand and shed despair. p. 97 But though of Sayid I'm bereft, From whom the stream of bounty came, Sayid a nobler meed has left Th exhaustless heritage of fame. Though mute the lips on which I hung, Their silence speaks more loud to me Than any voice from mortal tongue: "What Sayid was, let Malec be!"...
View Full Document
- Spring '08
- World Literature