Vain were my words. He went, alas! he went
With all the sunshine, and I wore alone
The weary weeks out of that hateful month.
Another month I waited, nervous, fierce
With love's impatience. When that month was gone
My heart was all afire; I could not stay.
Consumed with jealous fears that wore me down
Into a fever, necklace, earrings—all
I sold, and on to Venice rushed. How long
That dreary, never-ending journey seemed!