One day you'll rue the day you mocked me so.
I, for one, give thanks for a bitter lesson.
Henceforth must we our several paths go.
Solitude will be my only profession.
Fool I was to trust those black eyes, or mine;
To construe ev'ry gesture to my pleasing;
To seek a poison'd bloom and hurt in brier.
But my suffering shall not be unceasing.
My naïveté will give way to callousness;
Human affairs I shall forswear for art;
And live isolated in my own counciousness.
Such another endeavor I'll not start;
Until perchance one true to speech and act,
Constant to a feeling, might come to fact.