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The hound still follows at my heel, nor finds me less beloved for this—
But, oh! my love shrinks from my side and trembles at my kiss.
Would you find horror at my touch, or poison at my body’s breath.
If but my flesh grew fair again, and my soul darkened with its death?’

God struck him with a fell disease, he said no sad reproach to me,
He left the world of men behind for that sad isle beyond the sea;
He loved the beautiful, the sun—and God has robbed him of that right,
Housed him with men that are not men, with horrors for his sight
And I, my love! have robbed from you the right of love, and hope, and trust.
And gave a woman’s feeble dreams that God has razed to dust.
Oh, pity me, for I am weak, not worth that precious love you gave,
I weep undoing, while your ship finds you an island and a grave;