A Pile of Hopes and Dreams

"It is with great regret that I obey your commands of returning the letters, with which I have been honoured from you, and the lock of hair, which you so obligingly bestowed on me.

I am, dear Madam,

Your most obedient

humble Servant,

JOHN WILLOUGHBY."

All hopes and dreams destroyed and lay in a heaped up muddled mess. Poor Marianne and Elinor's distress quite the same when she read Willoughby's letter.

Oh the hours the happy pair spent together reading and singing, planning and scheming. May speculations of what they read, Shakespeare or perhaps Byron:

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.




The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow--

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame:

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.




They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me--

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:

Lond, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.




I secret we met--

I silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears.




~When We Two Parted, Lord Byron (1788-1824)

Mood:

Sick
(cough, cough. sniff, sniff.)