Explore "Melmoth The Wanderer, Volume 3" by Charles Maturin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Più non ho la dolce speranza. DIDONE.
"Seven mornings and evenings Immalee paced the sands of her lonely isle, without seeing the stranger. She had still his promise to console her, that they should meet in the world of suffering; and this she repeated to herself as if it was full of hope and consolation. In this interval she tried to educate herself for her introduction into this world, and it was beautiful to see her attempting, from vegetable and animal analogies, to form some image of the incomprehensible destiny of man. In the shade she watched the withering flower. -- "The blood that ran red through its veins yesterday is purple to-day, and will be black and dry to-morrow," she said; "but it feels no pain -- it dies patiently, -- and the ranunculus and tulip near it are untouched by grief for their companion, or their colours would not be so resplendent. But can it be thus in the world that thinks? Could I see _him_ wither and die, without withering and dying along with him. Oh no!