Quiet reproach

In lonely hours melancholy intrudes,

The wounds, the old wounds, open again.

Oh only let them bleed, they do not hurt much;

When they were freshly struck by you, they hurt more!

Whether or not you regret what you did to me,

Are happy with others, what business is it of mine?

Whatever you may undertake, the torment is past,

I cannot be angry with you, I can only forgive you.