When you were gone I fought with myself.

My dreams--yes, I had dreamed of all that can make earth Heaven, and you had waked me.

You said that you would be a brother to me--you talked of friendship.

The sting of it! It is no wonder that I grew faint with pain.

Had you struck me in the face, I would have kissed your hand.
But your friendship! Rather be dead than, loving, be held a friend! And I had dreamed of being dear to you for my own sake, of being dearest, and first, and alone beloved, since that other was gone and I had burned her memory.