The bond of love that held two hates united,
They plead still unrequited,
They grow and bear the thorn —
Oh, better never born!

Better if thou wert dead, my dear, if thou wert dead;
No woman’s moan but mine should hush thy sleeping.
When other eyes should close, their watch forgetting,
Mine vain regretting still its watch was keeping;
When other hearts grew weary by death’s gates.
Stole to their loves and hates.
Mine still lived for its laughter
In what might come hereafter.

Good-bye! I would not have thee dead. We grasped at stars
That only God could take: we tried to make
A paradise for keeping
Upon an earth where He had wrecked the garden;
Giving no pardon, baptized us all in weeping.
So pass; good-bye! Some other woman’s love.
Oh! not as great as mine, will find above
Some happier fate to choose you
Than mine that did refuse you.