I am given to an unfamiliar direction, disturbed into one in need of sympathetic sorrow and affection, left to fall to ruin in a mode, a condition of the dejection -by the one whose tenderness once was, but by no thoughts is considered to be anymore. A shadowy ghost that was long ago and once before a primary source to my hearts little store, but to its succor she could not have been made to allot anymore; and by her own admission she never will put in again -for I have received well not a thing. Now, for this, my heart's made harder, that ***** of mine which I had to barter; that part of me that at a time had been an inviolable origin of gentle utterance, reflecting bright moving points of light divine and made of true substance: but in every sense, I am one who has become most poor. Without a home, without a cent; alive in Him, yet dead to her.