Classic Poem

Yes, thou art wretched, and all grudge departs.
O Love, we cannot 'scape from wretchedness.
Till Death himself shall break our stricken hearts,
O Love, we cannot 'scape from wretchedness.

The mockery on thy lip, I see it well;
I see defiance flashing from thine eye;
I see the pride which makes thy bosom swell—
Yet art thou wretched, wretched even as I.

But pain will twitch the lip unseen of all;
In that proud bosom hidden wounds do lie;
That eye is dimmed by tears that dare not fall—
O Love, we must be wretched—till we die.