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so good-bye, my love, my dear, and so good-bye, E’en thus from my sad heart go hence, depart; I cast thee out, renounce, and hold no more; I wreck the cup of joy thou heldest for drinking To my lips, thinking we’d quaff—be as before; Yet at my laughter if thou hearest sigh. And ask no question ‘Why?’ Believing only that my pleasure lies To find approval in thy pleased eyes.

Before our time, my dear, my dear. Fate so had planned Our little race to run beneath the sun, That we should meet and love and dream, then separate. Perchance, she thought, though, there would be no parting, No salt tears smarting; she deemed to mate My most imperfect self to thine, and gain A better harvesting of pain: