Too late! So who’s to gain when what is passed
Rekindles in reproachful, hurtful brood
Long doomed affairs d’amour that stings thy heart
With ghostly lamentations sultry mood?
For how and where so often hast thou heard:
The die is cast and cannot be demurred?
What also is to gain by looking back
At foolishness so rash and wryly done?
Such memories chastise thee like the rack;
The maid so fair, long lost though couldst have won;
The fortune thou hadst not the strength to claim;
And thine unworthiness which brought thee shame.
The answers to these questions all, is naught,
For every one is water ’neath the bridge,
Each sad reflection leaves thee more distraught,
Thy brow is creased, thy sanity on ridge;
Best lay the faits accompli swift to rest,
What’s done is done, self-torture is no test.
Yes, lay these restless spirits lest they tear
The sinews of thy heart and twist thy nerve,
Such burdens we can never halve and share
No more than we can unify the curve,
For time along can lead us far afield
From wounds which if re-opened stay unhealed.
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