In the pale Carmelite would be no trace
Of guilty beauty or of guilty splendour;
There might long years with many tears efface
Love still too passionate and still too tender.
Perhaps this grief is merciful, and sent
To win me from a cold and changed affection,
In vain—though hope its sunny wealth hath spent,
Love needs it not—it lives on recollection.
I know that I deserve what I endure;
But harsh it is when such a blow is given
By him for whom I’d die, could that secure
One joy on earth, or win one hope from heaven.
Too utterly beloved! too much adored,
Since first beneath thy eagle glance I trembled!
What griefs have swelled my sorrow’s silent hoard!
How many secret tears have I dissembled!
Ah! never yet the heart of woman knew
Love more intense—life had but one emotion.
My God! to thee had this scorned heart been true,
Not so had been repaid its deep devotion.
I never could have left him, had I left
Within his soul the agony of parting;
But I shall be the only one bereft—
Only within my eyes the tears are starting.
How have I hung upon a single look!
How has a single word disturbed my sleeping!
Each hour its colour from thy greeting took—
What days for thee have passed away in weeping!
And thou art changed to me—thou for whose sake
My soul has perilled all it should have cherished.
Ah! dare I to the quiet convent take
The human love, that should long since have perished?
God will forgive what man may well despise:
The moral step may turn aside and falter;
But there is pity in the azure skies,
And there is hope on that eternal altar.
19
