And Good and Evil are to me as one;
Let all the world chastise me with its blame,
For what is done is done.
The dust of Taban we could find no more,
But yet nor rest nor respite hath he won;
His breath, his soul, floats round thee as before,
And—what is done is done.
TABAN.
[XL.]
O Lovely One, when to the ravished sight