Forgiving all, then you will know at last;
“How I have loved you, how my heart has kept
Its faith through unfaith, though of joy bereft
When naught but hope and memory were left;
“How I have loved you when I dry your tears,
And calm your wild remorse and anxious fears,
And point your hopes to brighter future years.”
St. George read the sad words over and over till they were imprinted on his memory. They had the greatest fascination for him in their hopeless love and sorrow.
He tried to write some verses in reply to them, but after many efforts he was chagrined to find that he did not possess the least poetic faculty. He could rhyme “love” with “dove” to be sure, but the lines were not even.
He threw aside the pencil, crying, tenderly: