Page:Moyarra- An Australian Legend in Two Cantos, 1891.djvu/75

And inly, then, my sick heart bleeds,
Reflecting that from me alone
The weight of anguish hath not flown;
And I could crush each tender plant
In the sun's light which seems to pant
With rapture of delight, while I
Must watch its smiling apathy
⁠And recklessness of my distress;
Till, like the hunted prey, whose foe
⁠Drinks its hot sobs with fell delight
No refuge from despair I know.
⁠⁠No ray adorns my night.
And not the least of pangs that wring
Is, that while thus remembering
The priceless debt to thy affection due
Though still to thee, I am as ever, true,
A listless apathy of voice denies
To shape the thought which gratitude supplies.
And I, repugnant to my crime, remain
Enervate in its galling chain."

⁠Not to upbraid thee, did I speak,
Moyarra, but with hope to prove
(Howe'er against despairing love