XX

When singing first my smitten heart's lament, My thought was only turned upon my pain, And I was also querulous with Cain, Crying: "This thing that thou on me hast sent Is more than I can bear!" But now content, Peace, and a quiet joy close the refrain Of passionate protesting with a strain Of dulcimers and silver trumpets blent:

For though my shame be branded on my brow, And you in tears have driven me afar Because I faltered and forgot my vow, The night has still for me a single star That will not let me quite forget your eyes— You, and the dear dream-hours of Paradise!