Let fly the fetters that have made us one?
And yet it might be—I should miss thee, Sorrow!
Thy constancy to me has been so great,
Thy shadow banished from my life to-morrow,
What earthly lover on me thus would wait?
For thou art sent from heaven, a sacred guest.
And though, sweet Sorrow, I’ll not bid thee stay,
Yet to those sins I bear one more confest
Were this: that I turned Heaven’s guest away.
A. T. L.