 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
THE WIFE.
Thou pour'dst into this goblet of my heartThy love, belovèd Wife, withouten stint;
And so drained I it, and left nothing in 't;
And now 'tis emptied, 'tis as set apart,
Never to be refilled; for thou, thou art
No more—the source! Against this ache like flint
I set my face, hardened my heart, by dint
Of apathy to deaden; so the smart
To bear or to forget. In vain, alas!
Both alike vain! I cannot, cannot bear,
While to forget doth all my power pass;
And, could I, like Death's blank Life itself were!
The crystal goblet's drained, within which was
A pearl than Cleopatra's far more rare!
| Stones from The Quarry | |