And they will soothe your aching brow with pitying, kind caress.
They will sweep away the black veil that hangs about your fame:
There is no cloud that long can shroud a virtuous woman's name.
"E'EN IN YOUR DESOLATION YOU ARE NOT QUITE UNBLEST:
NOT ALL WHO CHOOSE MAY COUNT THEIR WOES
UPON A MOTHER'S BREAST."
Who will avenge you, darling? The one who proved untrue.
His memory must undo him, whate'er his will may do;
The pitch-black night will come when he must meet Remorse alone;