For that:—it was the one dark thought
Wherewith in vain his spirit strove—
He died, he died of slighted love.”
“—And when Death hovered nearer still,
What said he of his mournful fate?”
“—That death was not so sharp an ill—
That Life, o’erdarkened by Despair,
Was bitterer far than Death to bear;
That rest awaits us in the tomb,
Where Anguish sleeps with Love and Hate.