Whate'er the cost to me, with this farewell, <br />I shall not see thee, speak to thee again. <br />If some on Earth must feel the pangs of Hell, <br />Mine only be it who have earned my pain. <br />No matter if my life be blank and dead, <br />Bankrupt of pleasure: it is better so <br />Than risk dishonour on a once loved head, <br />Than link all loved ones with my own sole woe. <br />I have no claim to bring grief's shade on these, <br />To mix their pure life's waters with my wine, <br />To vex the dead, dear dead, in their new peace <br />With knowledge of my sin and great decline. <br />For these I leave thee, and, though life be rent <br />With the rude fight, think not I shall relent.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-woman-s-sonnets-v/
