My graveyard holds no once-loved human forms,
    Grown hideous and forgotten, left alone,
    But every agony my heart has known, - 
    The new-born trusts that died, the drift of storms.

    I visit every day the shadowy grove;
    I bury there my outraged tender thought;
    I bring the insult for the love I sought,
    And my contempt, where I had tried to love.

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