'OH, NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER.'

Love spake to me and said:

'O lips, be mute;

Let that one name be dead,

That memory flown and fled,

Untouched that lute!

Go forth,' said Love, 'with willow in thy hand,

And in thy hair

Dead blossoms wear,

Blown from the sunless land.

'Go forth,' said Love; 'thou never more shalt see

Her shadow, glimmer by the trysting tree;

But she is glad,

With roses crowned and clad,

Who hath forgotten thee!'

But I made answer: 'Love!

Tell me no more thereof,

For she has drunk of that same cup as I.

Yea, though her eyes be dry,

She garners there for me

Tears salter than the sea,

Even till the day she die.'

So gave I Love the lie.