It does not hurt. She looked along the knife <br /> Smiling, and watched the thick drops mix and run <br /> Down the sheer blade; not that which had been done <br />Could hurt the sweet sense of the Roman wife, <br />But that which was to do yet ere the strife <br /> Could end for each for ever, and the sun: <br /> Nor was the palm yet nor was peace yet won <br />While pain had power upon her husband's life. <br /> <br />It does not hurt, Italia. Thou art more <br /> Than bride to bridegroom; how shalt thou not take <br /> The gift love's blood has reddened for thy sake? <br />Was not thy lifeblood given for us before? <br /> And if love's heartblood can avail thy need, <br /> And thou not die, how should it hurt indeed?<br /><br />Algernon Charles Swinburne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/non-dolet/
