But his guilt she ne’er shall know.
Whilst to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Wake me to a widowed bed;
In another’s arms no sorrow
Wilt thou feel, no tears wilt shed.
For the world’s applause I sought not
When I tore myself from thee;
Of its praise or blame I thought not—
What is blame or praise to me?
He in whom my soul delighted,