Then the moonlight came, without any sunset,
and shone on the graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands
and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid
marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit-up windows, and men
that loved 'em, but could never get anigh 'em, who played on guitars
under the trees, and made me that miserable I could have cried, because
I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with
the guitars did.
Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a
lost child for its dead mother, and I could 'a' got up then and there
and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn't a
thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't
want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to
be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung my
head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep me
from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be
a-gazin' at me a-sniv'lin', and it's nobody's business what I do with my
nose.
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