That all our thunders would disdain to hear:
And so, Sweet, if you pray, repeat anew
To God, that while you sang I wept a tear!
VI
This morning while I light my cigarette
In this dim study with its endless view
Stretching away to hills whose eyes are blue
With secret thoughts, my thoughts are all regret,
Regret for broken interludes! and yet—
If it were otherwise, who knows but you