The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!'
That cheerful gentleman is Lord Byron!"
She shut the book with a vicious snap and opened it again:
"'Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight:
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
No more—O, never more!'