You think that I
Who broke your dream,
All that you lent
Was wasted there,
And I who spoke
In rhyme and scheme
Have lost the tongues
I tempted there.

You tear my shroud
Of wings and sighs
To leave me cold,
Unloved and lost,
While I live out
My storms and cries
In search of warmth
Beneath your dust.

But you stare long
At some surprise
That caught your glimpse
Beyond my door;
And the night’s long,
And love bleeds,
While tongues of thorns
Rake my shore.

David Lewis Paget