I laugh, but in my laughter-cup I pour The tears of scorn and melancholy sore; I who am shattered by the hand of Doubt, Like glass to be remoulded nevermore.
LVI 42
61
I laugh, but in my laughter-cup I pour The tears of scorn and melancholy sore; I who am shattered by the hand of Doubt, Like glass to be remoulded nevermore.