XX

When singing first my smitten heart's lament,

My thought was only turned upon my pain,

And I was also querulous with Cain,

Crying: “This thing that thou on me hast sent

Is more than I can bear!” But now content,

Peace, and a quiet joy close the refrain

Of passionate protesting with a strain

Of dulcimers and silver trumpets blent:

For though my shame be branded on my brow,

And you in tears have driven me afar

Because I faltered and forgot my vow,

The night has still for me a single star

That will not let me quite forget your eyes —

You, and the dear dream-hours of Paradise!