And so that it is happy—what care we
Whose bosom it may beat in—thine or mine?
(Nay, but thou shalt not speak!) I’ll keep away.
His eyes shall never rest on me again;
He will forget me, then, and wondrous soon!
Men’s hearts are in their eyes—this love of theirs
Must have its daily food or it will die:
I’ll keep away—so take him to thine heart,
And tell him—tell him—that I spake in jest,
That I had plucked his image from my heart