And what is done is done;
What shouldst thou reck of me and all my pain?
For what is done is done.

They said to her--Behold him, he is dead!
How did he lose his life, unhappy one?
--O bury him deep in the grave, she said,
For what is done is done.

This is the pain of love that I have caught,
And what is done is done;
A thousand remedies avail me naught,
And what is done is done.

For love I gave the honour of my name,
And Good and Evil are to me as one;
Let all the world chastise me with its blame,
For what is done is done.

The dust of Taban we could find no more,
But yet nor rest nor respite hath he won;
His breath, his soul, floats round thee as before,
And--what is done is done.

TABAN.




XL.