English poem
Pity
by William Lyon Phelps (1865–1943)
They never saw my lover's face, They only know our love was brief, Wearing awhile a windy grace And passing like an autumn leaf.
They wonder why I do not weep, They think it strange that I can sing, They say, "Her love was scarcely deep Since it has left so slight a sting."
They never saw my love nor knew That in my heart's most secret place I pity them as angels do Men who have never seen God's face.