awful saturday/ lovely saturnight

'And this was sudden. The day before we had passed alone together in the country; I remember we had talked of future travels that we should undertake together—. There was an eager delight in our tones and gestures that could only spring from deep and mutual love joined to the most unrestrained confidence; and now the next day, the next hour, I saw his brows contracted, his eyes fixed in sullen fierceness on the ground, and his voice and so dear made me shiver when he addressed me. Often, when my wandering fancy brought by its various images now consolation and now aggravation of grief to my heart. I have compared myself to Proserpine who was gaily and heedlessly gathering flowers on the sweet plain of Enna, when the King of Hell snatched her away to the bodes of death and misery. Alas! I who so lately knew of nought but the joy of life; who slept only to dream sweet dreams and awoke to incomparably happiness, I now passed my days and nights in tears.'

-Mathilda, Mary Shelley.