Each day watched die together binds us fast, And each woe of that one black year and all The waiting and the watching of the past Bind close and closer, since I first was thrall— Surely old Love is sweeter far than new, And old shared sin is lighter through the sharing, And sin's pain borne together sweet through bearing: How should I ever turn my heart from you O Mistress of so long? How should I go, To some strange woman knowing not my pain Or night long vigils, or long dumb delays That were, or hope deferred, or schemings slow Or the quick lie and plottings of the brain, That we two knew through those three hundred days?
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