Yes – What jealous art in the story You offer!
What dear trifles! – A bit of a sonnet,
A heart engraved in your black manner.
Penknife strokes, cut with a stylus, on it –
To the buttonhole you cut for it, proudly,
My heart carries a small bouquet
Of red ‘everlastings’ – it’s still your way –
It’s blood in flower. A pretty memory.
Come, no tears to our memory today!
– It’s the fatal death of love that we view –
Wisps of forget-me-not, an old sachet!
False woman, begone!... Let some ass bray you!
If you were not false, ah, would you be true?...
Love is a duel: – Touché! Thank you.