Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 185

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CLXXXV THE SECOND TIME
I cannot love you well, love,
 I cannot love again.
Your heaven is my hell, love,
 Your rapture is my pain.

I cannot say once more, love,
 The words that have been said.
My hand is on the door, love,
 My heart is with the dead.

When you would bid me stay, love,
 A voice is in mine ear,
That cries, "Away, away, love!
 How shouldst thou linger here?"

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You warmed me at your fire, love,
 But I myself am cold.
God grant you your desire, love,
 And new love for the old.

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