He Might As Well Plant An Oak

The Night Is Darkening Round Me, The Wild Winds Coldly Blow; But A Tyrant Spell Has Bound Me, And I Cannot, Cannot Go.

I Gave Him My Heart, And He Took And Pinched It To Death; And Flung It Back To Me. People Feel With Their Hearts, Ellen, And Since He Has Destroyed Mine, I Have Not Power To Feel For Him.

I Pray Every Night That I May Live After Him; Because I Would Rather Be Miserable Than That He Should Be — That Proves I Love Him Better Than Myself.

I Am Now Quite Cured Of Seeking Pleasure In Society, Be It Country Or Town.

By This Curious Turn Of Disposition I Have Gained The Reputation Of Deliberate Heartlessness; How Undeserved, I Alone Can Appreciate.