What comfort can I send thee sweet, Save that Pain is—we know not why, Save that Pain lives—and will not die? What comfort? I can but repeat The old philosophy. Bear and be patient O my sweet! Pain is—but is our pleasure over? Pain lives—but live I not thy lover, Through all the changes we may meet And all new years discover? What comfort can I send thee sweet? Pain is—and none may flee from it, Pain lives—nor softens any whit— A fire with a constant heat Our birth sees firstly lit. Bear and be patient O my sweet! Pain is—and none can tell us why Pain lives—and dies not till we die, Till the heart's pulse has ceased to beat. And after—then come I.