text:  But in the young survivor's throbbing brow And wandering eyes delirious fever burn'd; And all night long from side to side she turn'd Piteously plaining like a wounded dove With now and then the murmur--"She won't move"-- And lo! when morning as in mockery bright Shone on that pillow passing strange the sight-- That young head's raven hair was streak'd with white! No idle fiction this