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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536588" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLIII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536588" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">THE SAME CONTINUED<br>I do not love you. To have said this once<br>Had seemed to both of us a monstrous lie,<br>An idle boast, love's last extravagance<br>Or the mere paradox of vanity.<br>Now it is true and yet more hideously<br>More strangely monstrous. I, no less than you,<br>Here own at length the worm which cannot die,<br>The burden of a pain for ever new.<br>This is the ``pang of loss,'' the bitterest<br>Which Hell can give. We are shut out from Heaven<br>And never more shall look upon Love's face,<br>Being with those who perish unforgiven.<br>Never to see Love's face! Ah, pain in pain,<br>Which we do well to weep and weep again!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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