Modern Despair

He used to fancy she would see him next
With blossoms heaped about his quiet head;
That she would kneel repentant at his side,
And mourn her scorn too late when he was dead.

He did not die; but when they met next year
His woes and wrongs again burst into flame;
He longed to score her now with stinging words,
But he, alas, could not recall her name!
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