Xi

The Forgiveness

If I might see you dead, Beloved--dead-- Your false eyes closed forever to the light, Your false smile stilled upon my aching sight; If I might know that nevermore your head, Cruelly fair, could lie upon the bed Of my torn heart; if I beheld the night Free from your living thought--ah! if I might, Then could my desolate soul be comforted.

For this is worst of all the woes you gave-- My heart may not forgive. The tired years go And leave the great love weeping for a grave, Scorned and unburied, 'neath the open sky. I could not love you less, to see you so. Loving you more, I might forgive--and die.