The die is cast! Thine is my life!
Into thy hands my fate I yield!
XXXII
No answer! He another sent.
Epistle second, note the third,
Remained unnoticed. Once he went
To an assembly—she appeared
Just as he entered. How severe!
She will not see, she will not hear.
Alas! she is as hard, behold,
And frosty as a Twelfth Night cold.
Oh, how her lips compressed restrain
The indignation of her heart!
A sidelong look doth Eugène dart:
Where, where, remorse, compassion, pain?
Where, where, the trace of tears? None, none!