Thou fool! and dost thou think so easily
To vanquish me, when I have war declared,
And war persistent, skilfully prepared,
With love in thy soul hidden: busily
Indeed thy daily work pursue, and then
Forget me if thou can'st, thou triple fool!
Hast thou to learn no sympathy have men
For such as murder Love, or make it tool
Of their ambitious will?—Ah, now has come
The cold grey day when they who will may hide
Thy fame, and strike all praise and honour dumb.
So now triumphantly with fate I ride,
On this, Death's own inexorable day,
But no sad sweetness chants a burial lay.