Thou wilt admire how I could e'er address Such features to love's work...this taunt, though true, (For indeed Nature nor in form nor hue _465 Bestowed on me her choicest workmanship) Shall not be thy defence...for since thy lip Met mine first, years long past, since thine eye kindled With soft fire under mine, I have not dwindled Nor changed in mind or body, or in aught _470 But as love changes what it loveth not After long years and many trials. 'How vain Are words! I thought never to speak again, Not even in secret,--not to mine own heart-- But from my lips the unwilling accents start, _475 And from my pen the words flow as I write, Dazzling my eyes with scalding tears...my sight Is dim to see that charactered in vain On this unfeeling leaf which burns the brain And eats into it...blotting all things fair _480 And wise and good which time had written there. 'Those who inflict must suffer, for they see The work of their own hearts, and this must be Our chastisement or recompense--O child! I would that thine were like to be more mild _485 For both our wretched sakes...for thine the most Who feelest already all that thou hast lost Without the power to wish it thine again; And as slow years pass, a funereal train Each with the ghost of some lost hope or friend _490 Following it like its shadow, wilt thou bend No thought on my dead memory? ... 'Alas, love! Fear me not...against thee I would not move A finger in despite. Do I not live That thou mayst have less bitter cause to grieve? _495 I give thee tears for scorn and love for hate; And that thy lot may be less desolate Than his on whom thou tramplest, I refrain From that sweet sleep which medicines all pain. Then, when thou speakest of me, never say _500 "He could forgive not." Here I cast away All human passions, all revenge, all pride; I think, speak, act no ill; I do but hide Under these words, like embers, every spark Of that which has consumed me--quick and dark _505 The grave is yawning...as its roof shall cover My limbs with dust and worms under and over So let Oblivion hide this grief...the air Closes upon my accents, as despair Upon my heart--let death upon despair!' _510