’Tis sadder yet to feel my sin.
Love learns too late; but then, but then,
He loved me once—the best of men.
III.
“I never see a pure, good face,
Nor painting outlines ever trace,
But he is near, his love is dear,
Had I been earnest; he were here!”
She veiled her dark eyes with her hand;
I turned away,—“True love is grand,”