The hands that hold you are not his, nor mine;
But neither of us may be jealous now.
The time for that has passed. I used to whine
That you should not be his; he used to vow
That if you were with me, he would be done
With you - and now we are both quit thereof,
Both promises are kept. What was begun
By us is finished in another's love,
And both our hopes are ended. We should be
So happy in our mutual success.
But yet he is (and I am, honestly)
An all-together, devestated mess.
I thought you being his was worst; yet I
Have found a worse: having to say goodbye.
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