Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/37



Leaving her trusting heart a desolate place, Herself an outcast with an unwept grave, Perhaps unhallowed too—her last lone refuge. I've more than loved,—oh I have worshipped you; I have thought, spoken, dreamt of you alone, And deep has been my misery! my cheek Has burnt even to pain when you were named; I have sat hours thinking o'er your last words, Have sought my couch for solitude, not sleep, And wept, I only know how bitterly. I have no joy in pleasure: all I took A pride in, once, has lost its interest now; The days I see you not, to me are blanks, And yet I shrink from meeting you! I have Insulted heaven with prayers (prayers not to love you,) And then have trembled lest they should be heard. I must forget all this: the veins that throb In agony will surely learn from time A calm and quiet pulse; yet I will own, Though woman's weakness is in the confession, I never could have nerved my soul to this, But that I know you wavering and weak, Passionate, but unsteady; born to win Hearts, but not keep them. Tell me not you love Intensely, wholly, well, as I have done. But oh, farewell, farewell! I give thy portrait To the red flames,—it is a sacrifice On which I swear forgetfulness! L. E. L.