 | Fand and Other Poems |  |
“Nay,” she said;
“If he is troubled, whose the blame but thine,
Who hast cut the tendrils, that had clasp'd with strength
The life of fuller joy;—rashly, unheedingly;
Caring for nothing but to get him back,
Yet not for that so much as get from me?
Loving him truly thou had'st left him to me.
Yet, be thou not unwarned: take him from me,
If such thy power, I leave a sting behind,
The sting of my remembrance, a quick pain
No skill of thine can e'er pluck out of him.
With me 'tis different: I can pluck thee out,
And with immortal kisses heal the wound.”
“If he is troubled, whose the blame but thine,
Who hast cut the tendrils, that had clasp'd with strength
The life of fuller joy;—rashly, unheedingly;
Caring for nothing but to get him back,
Yet not for that so much as get from me?
Loving him truly thou had'st left him to me.
Yet, be thou not unwarned: take him from me,
If such thy power, I leave a sting behind,
The sting of my remembrance, a quick pain
No skill of thine can e'er pluck out of him.
With me 'tis different: I can pluck thee out,
And with immortal kisses heal the wound.”
| Fand and Other Poems | |