I have erased the record utterly.

With empty hands all mortal men are whirled
Through Death's grim gate into the other world:
This is my pride that it is granted me
To carry with me my desire for thee.

They say when I complain of all I bore
--It is thy kismet, what would'st thou have more?
My rivals also bear thy tyranny,
Saying--It is her custom and must be!

DAGH.




XVI.


I met you and the pain of separation was forgot,
And all I should have kept in mind my heart remembered not.

What cruelty and scorn I in your bitter letters knew!
No love was there; O Gracious One, have you forgotten too?

Strange is the journey that my soul by wanton Love was led,
Two steps were straight and clear, and four forgotten were instead.

There was some blundering o'er my fate at the Great Reckoning;