Yet had you only loved me, who can tell
How humble I had been, how I had tried
From this poor broken twilight to re-build
The Dawn, and from Love’s ashes to re-dream
The flower.
Phaon
I loved you then, and love you now.
The torn plumes of the wayward wings I take,
The ruined rose, and all the empty cruse;
Here I accept the bitter with the sweet,