Had you been _here_ on that evening--a cry
Comes out of my heart as _one_ grace I implore:
Let me not think of our evenings, or I
Shall suddenly die, and see him no more.

I know you were wrong, my darling; I know
That we all do wrong, and must all repent;
But this horrible depth of nameless woe
Was nothing on earth but an accident.
With your tender heart and your gracious way,
And your temper as gay as cloudless skies,
You would sooner have died that fatal day
Than taken the life of Jack Devize.

O tender heart, art thou lonely and cold,
With no one to comfort or take thy part?
O sweet gay words in the days that are old!
And oh, to be clasp'd to that tender heart!

I am so afraid that you feel remorse
For an end that _indeed_ you could not prevent;
And I am not there to put gentle force
On what you should and should _not_ repent.
I am so afraid that you grieve _too_ much,
With a sorrow that nothing will stop or stay:
O Harry, don't _let_ your sorrow be such;
O darling, you _shall_ be happy some day!

They want to have you; they hunt you to death:
They _cannot_ believe that you _meant_ the deed!