The Faithless and the Constant

Thou who at will canst fling
Thine insolent alms or bid me pine defrauded, —
Compared to Sorrow thou'rt a shallow thing,
Joy, the much lauded.

Ah, with pale promise, thou
Awhile perhaps mayst hoodwink and deceive me,
But it is Sorrow that hath kept her vow
Never to leave me.
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