Here let it fall; I am prepared to suffer;
Would learn betimes what waiteth me in hell.
Voice from the Tower.
Pardon, my loved one, pardon! I am guilty!
Late was thy coming, weary ’twas to wait,
And thus, despite myself, some childish song—
Away with it! What have I to regret?
With thee, my love, with thee a passing space
We lived through; but the memory of that time
I would not change with all earth’s habitants,