I know I have been happiest at your side
But what is done, is done, and all's to be
And small the good, to linger dolefully
Gayly it lived, and gallantly it died
I will not make you songs of hearts denied
And you, being man, would have no tears of me
And should I offer you fidelity
You'd be, I think, a little terrified
Yet this the need of woman, this her curse
To range her little gifts, and give, and give
Because the throb of giving's sweet to bear
To you, who never begged me vows or verse
My gift shall be my absence, while I live
But after that, my dear, I cannot swear