The tide of thought and feeling rolls on forever the same, though the banks and shapes around, which govern its course, and the reflection in the wave, vary. Thus the sentiment of immediate loss in some sort decayed, while that of utter, irremediable loneliness grew on me with time. Three days I wandered through Ravenna ⁠—now thinking only of the beloved beings who slept in the oozy caves of ocean⁠—now looking forward on the dread blank before me; shuddering to make an onward step⁠—writhing at each change that marked the progress of the hours.