O blame me not for the cruel words
In a moment of madness said;
The shadow that fell upon my life
Is cold as the shrouded dead.
Deem not I am hard and heartless;
My tears are as warm as thine;
‘ Twas clay that I crowned and worshipped,
And wept o'er its crumbled shrine.
To me, my passionate, deathless soul,
Was less than his finger-tips;
He turned away fro the gold of my love
For the dross on a wanton's lips.
My faith in his truth is broken —
Even truth itself is a lie.
I have cursed him!— but I love him,
And I'll love him till I die.