Mine—mine—though Fate had given thee to another.
Let cold, weak hearts condemn the love whose dawn
Was ere the altar bound thee to a brother.
I sought that world-condemnéd love to smother—
As well might stifle a volcano, bind
The ocean-wave, or bid the yearning mother
Curse her first-born. The cloister more enshrined
Thy image—Solitude the gold but more refined!
XXXIX.