Classic Poem

Now the pain beginneth and the word is spoken;—
Hark unto the tolling of the churchyard chime!—
Once my heart was gladsome, now my heart is broken,—
Once my love was noble, now it is a crime.

But the fear is over; yea, what now shall pain me?
Arm thee in thy sorrow, O most Desolate!
Weariness and weakness, these shall now sustain me,—
Pride and bitter grieving, burning love and hate.

Yea, the fear is over, the strong fear and trembling;
I can doubt no longer, he is gone indeed.
Rend thy hair, lost woman, weep without dissembling;
The heart torn forth from it, shall the breast not bleed?

Happy she who looketh on his beauty's glory!
Happy she who listeneth to his gentle word!
Yet, O happy maiden, sorrow lies before thee;
Greeting hath been given, parting must be heard.

He shall leave thee also, he who now hath left me,
With a weary spirit and an aching heart;
Thou shalt be bereaved by him who hath bereft me;
Thou hast sucked the honey,—feel the stinging's smart.

Let the cold gaze on him, let the heartless hear him,
For he shall not hurt them, they are safe in sooth:
But let loving women shun that man and fear him,
Full of cruel kindness and devoid of ruth.

When ye call upon him, hope for no replying;
When ye gaze upon him, think not he will look;
Hope not for his pity when your heart is sighing;
Such another, waiting, weeping, he forsook.

Hath the Heaven no thunder wherewith to denounce him?
Hath the Heaven no lightning wherewith to chastise?
O my heart and spirit, O my soul, renounce him
Who hath called for vengeance from the distant skies.

Vengeance which pursues thee, vengeance which shall find thee,
Crushing thy false spirit, scathing thy fair limb:—
O ye thunders deafen, O ye lightnings blind me,
Winds and storms from heaven, strike me but spare him.

I forgive thee, dearest, cruel, I forgive thee;—
May thy cup of sorrow be poured out for me;
Though the dregs be bitter yet they shall not grieve me,
Knowing that I drink them, O my love, for thee.