I do not love you. To have said this once Had seemed to both of us a monstrous lie, An idle boast, love's last extravagance Or the mere paradox of vanity. Now it is true and yet more hideously More strangely monstrous. I, no less than you, Here own at length the worm which cannot die, The burden of a pain for ever new. This is the "pang of loss," the bitterest Which Hell can give. We are shut out from Heaven And never more shall look upon Love's face, Being with those who perish unforgiven. Never to see Love's face! Ah, pain in pain, Which we do well to weep and weep again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRE-EXISTENCE by PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE IRELAND (1847) by DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY T.T. IN COMMENDATION OF THE AUTHOR HIS WORKE by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE SONGS OF SUMMER by MATHILDE BLIND THE WIDOWER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD CHRISTMAS GIFTS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: THE CLOUD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |