Lost is my strength, my mirth, the joy intense Of very life, the comrades and the zest; -- All, even to my pride, that unsuppressedHad wrought my spirit to self-confidence.When truth I recognised, my raptured sense Dreamed I had found a love to be caressed; But palling as I clasped her to my breastLoathing and ashes were my recompense.Yet is she still divine; and they that curled The lip in sight of her have dulled their earsTo wisdom's echoes in our under-world. God speaks: perforce my naked soul replies; -- One thing of all is left me. -- that mine eyesHave sometimes been not unacquaint with tears.
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Tristesse
written byRobertson James
© Robertson James
