Unclasped her wings, and fled;
I stood, like one whose dearest dead
Lies on the trestles—steeped in tears —
Heaven’s judgment on my head.
Why did she hate me! Wherefore blight
My penitent heart with piercing scorn?
My better angel took her flight
Despairing and forlorn:
The Fiend, who stood exulting by,
Reclaimed his trembling slave;