And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace

Doth through my cloud of anguish shine:

And for a while my sorrows cease,

To know thy heart hath felt for mine.

Oh lady! blessd be that tear –

It falls for one who cannot weep;

Such precious drops are doubly dear

To those whose eyes no tear may steep.

Sweet lady! once my heart was warm

With every feeling soft as thine;

But Beauty’s self hath ceased to charm

A wretch created to repine.

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low?

Sweet lady! speak those words again:

Yet if they grieve thee, say not so –

I would not give that bosom pain.

***

Пенелопе

Был худший день, клянуся честью,