by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Ay, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair,
And gaze upon her smile:
Seem as you drank the very air
Her breath perfumed the while;
And walk for her the gifted line,
That wild and witching lay,
And swear your heart is as a shrine,
That only owns her sway.
Tis well: I am revenged at last, --
Mark you that scornful cheek, --
The eye averted as you passed,
Spoke more than words could speak.
Ay, now by all the bitter tears,
That I have shed for thee, --
The racking doubts, the burning fears, --
Avenged they well may be --
By the nights passed in sleepless care,
The days of endless wo;
All that you taught my heart to bear,
All that yourself will know.
I would not wish to see you laid
Within an early tomb;
I should forget how you betrayed,
And only weep your doom:
But this is fitting punishment --
To live and love in vain, --
O my wrung heart, be thou content,
And feed upon his pain.
Go thou and watch her lightest sigh,
Thine own it will not be;
And back beneath her sunny eye, --
It will not turn on thee.
'Tis well: the rack, the chain, the wheel,
Far better hadst thou proved;
Even I could almost pity feel,
For thou art not beloved.
Source:The Poetical Works Of Miss Landon
Phillips, Sampson, And Co.
110 Washington Street