V
If you don't love my love, my dear, It is not there.What you don't love can never beA thought of mine, a part of me. And so, beware!For every smile and every tearIs born of hope and bred of fear; Only despairIs mine alone. And being mineCan blot your image, lock your shrine.
In the still dust beneath your feetI lie alone and incomplete, But you,Though you may pass me in disdain,Will know the all-fulfilling pain, And rueThe 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.
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