Lethe is the River of Remorse

Lover, why do you wrong me by lying
In another's bed? Have I betrayed you
With some word that pricks the eyes
To bleeding, so that you would kneel before
A stranger's couch? Will he
Coax you with blandishments
Foreign to our joy, my verses
In barbaric modes, beset
By the bag-pipe, German horns, echoing
A once sweet love?
But she too suffered the wilderness,
By the reflecting pools with a sincere heart, she called
Three times on an alien crag, a song she had surely learned
From some muse.
Oh muses, maidens tripled thrice
And daughters of a double thought, sorrow's bite or the milk
Of wrath, whose pitied fame inspires song, breathe life
Again into these sobs, unclog
These veins choked up with grief,
So that I might arrest my sighs
And get a little sleep.