IT is buried and done with, The love that we knew: Those cobwebs we spun with Are beaded with dew. I lov'd thee; I leave thee: To love thee was pain: I dare not believe thee, To love thee again. Like spectres unshriven Are the years that I lost; To thee they were given Without count of cost. I cannot revive them By penance or prayer: Hell's tempest must drive them Through turbulent air. Farewell, and forget me; For I too am free From the shame that beset me, The sorrow of thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON VIOLET'S WAFERS, SENT ME WHEN I WAS ILL by SIDNEY LANIER THE GETTYSBURG ADDRESS by ABRAHAM LINCOLN SONNET: 17 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TWO SONNETS FROM NEW YORK: TOWERS by ADELAIDE NICHOLS BAKER MY GARDEN by KATHARINE CANBY BALDERSTON THE THINKER'S VISION by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |