Geplaatst op

april 2011

You loved me not at all, but let it go; I loved you more than life, but let it be. As the more injured party, this being so, The hour’s amenities are all to me— The choice of weapons; and I gravely choose To let weapons tarnish where they lie; And spend the night in eloquent abuse Of senators and popes and such small fry And meet the morning standing, and at odds With heaven and earth and hell and any fool Who calls his soul his own, and all the gods, And all the children getting dressed for school… And you will leave me, and I shall entomb What’s cold by then in an adjoining room.