He, too, yet feels, 'mid bitterness and pain:
"She loves you still! oh, she is still your love!
Speak one kind word, let her speak one to you,
And then the spell that parts you will be broken."
They went—they met—but what will pride not do?
That single word remained unspoken!
They parted, and as in the minster's choir
Doth die away the altar lamp's red glow—
At first grows dimmer, then the sacred fire