Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/274



Can it be so? O, surely no! Must I perforce believe That he I loved and trusted so, Vowed only to deceive? Heap coals of fire on this lone head, Or in pure pity strike me dead,— 'Twere kindness, on the day That tells me one I loved so well, Is false,—is fled away!