The Book of the Rose

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

A REMORSE


 

I dreamed last night my love was dead.
The dreadful thing was this!—
Not that my lips would feel no more
The kindness of her kiss;
Not that my feet the weary years
5
Would go uncomraded;
Not that of all my love for her
So much remained unsaid;—
But, sickening, I remembered how
I had been false to her!
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"Oh God!" I cried aloud—"She knows
I have been false to her!"