从我的悲痛中解脱。
One word is too often profaned
Forto profa，
One feelg too falsely disdad
For thee to disda it；
One hope is too like despair
For prudeo sother，
And pity fro thee ore dear
Than that fro another.
I ot give what n call love
But wilt thou aept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the heave not.
And the desire of the oth for the star，
Of the night for the orrow，
The devotion to sothg afar
Fro the sphere of our sorrow.