V
If you don't love my love, my dear,
It is not there.
What you don't love can never be
A thought of mine, a part of me.
And so, beware!
For every smile and every tear
Is born of hope and bred of fear;
Only despair
Is mine alone. And being mine
Can blot your image, lock your shrine.
It is not there.
What you don't love can never be
A thought of mine, a part of me.
And so, beware!
For every smile and every tear
Is born of hope and bred of fear;
Only despair
Is mine alone. And being mine
Can blot your image, lock your shrine.
In the still dust beneath your feet
I lie alone and incomplete,
But you,
Though you may pass me in disdain,
Will know the all-fulfilling pain,
And rue
The burning love that, liking not,
You fanned to flame and left to rot.
I lie alone and incomplete,
But you,
Though you may pass me in disdain,
Will know the all-fulfilling pain,
And rue
The burning love that, liking not,
You fanned to flame and left to rot.
For it is not my love, my dear,
Has died,
But you; the glow-worms in your eyes,
The singing echoes of your sighs
That lied.
Has died,
But you; the glow-worms in your eyes,
The singing echoes of your sighs
That lied.
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