Heloise to Abelard, 16

I give but lip-repentance for my sins,
And no contrition to my soul is known;
Each day my lawless memory begins
Recounting pleasures that were once our own.
Each night I see my Abelard in dreams.
Entranced with love, we turn away from books;
And all of wisdom in your utterance seems,
And all of rapture in your words and looks.
And I remember that dear place and spot
Where first your passion spoke and kindled mine.
What tide of time can wash away, or blot
Such mem'ries from the heart? Has love divine,
And your misfortune, brought you into peace,
While I still strive with storms that never cease?
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