Does it matter, save for pride?
Ah! a phantom stands beside,
And a dream - that comes not true! ...
You struck deep: the old scar burns.
Love is cruel as the grave,
And its fang'd tooth stings. ... Love turns
Nor to listen nor to save! ...
Hark! the midnight drip of rain
Plashes from the hollow eaves;
And a sudden wind-puff heaves
The drawn curtain from the pane. ...
You are faint: your lips are pale,
And your hands - in mine - are cold;
And the wind, - 't is like the wail
Of dead bells for love's death toll'd. ...
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The Yale and Second Regiment Games.