I am not blinded or prejudiced here;
I have sought the truth and found what I sought;
I know you were wrong, my Harry, my dear;
You should not have play'd and quarrell'd and fought.
Had you been here on that evening—a cry
Comes out of my heart as one grace I implore:
Let me not think of our evenings, or I
Shall suddenly die, and see him no more.
I know you were wrong, my darling; I know
That we all do wrong, and must all repent;