I blame thee not, a broken heart my lot

I BLAME thee not, a broken heart my lot,
O Love for ever lost ! I blame thee not.
Though thou art splendid with the diamonds bright.
There falls no gleam within thy heart's deep night.

I've known this long. I saw thee in clear dream,
And saw black night within thy soul supreme,
And saw the worm still fretting at thy heart ;
I saw how wretched, O my love, thou art.

Yes, thou art wretched, and I blame thee not ; —
My Love, we both must ever wretched be !
Until death's peace concludes our fatal lot,
My Love, we both must ever wretched be !

I see the scorn which round thy pale lip weaves.
And see thine eyes outHghten haughtily,
And see the pride with which thy bosom heaves ;
And wretched art thou still, wretched as I.

In secret round thy mouth a pain-thrill steals.
Through tears held back thine eyes can scarcely see,
The haughty breast a bleeding heart conceals ;
My Love, we both must ever wretched be.