I LOVED you and I lost you long ago,
And though the life within me wells in Spring
With sudden joy in every living thing,
'Tis but a fitful fever, for I know
I may not feel the glamour and the glow
That one dear presence never failed to bring;
And though my ravaged heart may sometimes sing,
Its music cannot lose the note of woe.
So though Love plead to give surcease from pain,
I would not have it otherwise. My heart
Would lose its life with its dear loneliness.
I am of those who may not love again,
Who find the bleeding wound the better part,
And Grief assuaged, but Grief without redress.