’Twere better to have killed than maimed me thus—
A bird with broken wing in the lone wilderness.
I once was happy, and how bright was then
Sun, moon, and every star!
Spotless and pure I laughed along the glen;
When, swift to mar
This happiness and peace, the spoiler came
And left me all bereft—the child of shame.
And yet I do not hate him, woe is me
(No sun, no moon, no star!)