Notes Of An Interview

It is but little that remaineth Of the kindness that you gave me, And that little precious remnant you withhold. Go free; I know that time constraineth, Wilful blindness could not save me: Yet you say I caused the change that I foretold.

At every sweet unasked relenting, Though you'd tried me with caprice, Did my welcome, did my gladness ever fail? To-day not loud is my lamenting: Do not chide me; it shall cease: Could I think of vanished love without a wail?

Elsewhere, you lightly say, are blooming All the graces I desire: Thus you goad me to the treason of content: If ever, when your brow is glooming, Softer faces I admire, Then your lightnings make me tremble and repent.

Grant this: whatever else beguileth Restless dreaming, drowsy toil, As a plaything, as a windfall, let me hail it. Believe: the brightest one that smileth To your beaming is a foil, To the splendour breaking from you, though you veil it.