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CHAPTER XI.
CONVERSATION AFTER BREAKFAST.
False look, false hope, and falsest love,
All meteors sent to me,
To shew how they the heart could move,
And how deceiving be:
They left me darkened, crushed, alone;
My spirit's household gods o'erthrown.
The world itself is changed, and all
That was beloved before
Is vanished, and beyond recall,
For I can hope no more:
The sear of fire, the dint of steel,
Are easier than such wounds to heal.
Blanchard’s title is:
CURELESS WOUNDS
From The Last Song in The Troubadour, title poem
In the Bouquet (1846), under (Lupine) Lupinus hirsutus as Dejection, Sorrow
