When she grew quiet he said tenderly:
“You must forget him, dear, as they will forget you in their happiness. I will take you away from New York, where you shall never meet those cruel hearts again.”
“I should like to go—I should like to forget!” she sighed, and his heart throbbed with divine sympathy, for he knew well all the anguish of her plaint.
Do I remember? Ask me not again!
My soul has but one passion—to forget!
Oh, is there nothing in the world then
To take away the soul’s divine regret?
Alas, for love is evermore divine,
Immortal is the sorrow love must bring,
The buried jewel seeketh yet to shine,