I heed not that my earthly lot Hath--little of Earth in it-- That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute:-- I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But that _you_ sorrow for _my_ fate Who am a passer-by.
Public domain. Source: PoetryDB. Reproduced verbatim; see theanthology for the full collection.