What good is there, Ah me, what good in Love?
Since, even if you love me, we must part;
And since for either, and you cared enough,
There’s but division and a broken heart?
And yet, God knows, to hear you say: My Dear!
I would lie down and stretch me on the bier.
And yet would I, to hear you say: My own!
With mine own hands drag down the burial stone.