(100 POINTS) I wrote a poem (sonnet) for English class, and I had to write it in old English. I am not certain if the poem makes much since so, I would like for someone to tell me if the poem sounds correct and what I could do to improve it. For I needless say that mine heart will beat within its space,
without a response to beat at that harmonious pace
That you may see across my youth day to day.
Lonely will mine heart carry on to the thoughts of a piece
That will satisfy my heart and give me peace,
Nay, my heart will beat forever more alone
As the lone wind that chills me to the bone
Lost forever shall my heart be beating alone with no one around to call my own.
So, from this moment on
I acknowledge that my heart might not belong
To another that may beat on its own
But this douth not mean that I am completely alone
For The Lord up above calls me his own
And who in this world could compete with The Lord who has my soul to keep?

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream