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This sad love poem addresses that question.

O not departure, but a voyage done! Now moving on with life, I force a wistful grin, Questioning what went wrong, Wondering what might have been.

So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day.

When I'm upset, I sometimes find myself suddenly tidying up things.

Luke Havergal by Edward Arlington Robinson Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal, There where the vines cling crimson on the wall, And in the twilight wait for what will come.

And it was Swinburne who introduced the rondel to English poetry, adapting it from the French rondeau.

B WHAT YOU ARE by — Brett Coulter You are my raft in the rapids of life You are my peace in the midst of strife You are the shore to a shipwrecked soul You are the bridge to a lifelong goal You are the finish of an Olympic run You are the shine when there is no sun You are a rope when I start to fall You are my wife and you are my all.

Grass by Carl Sandburg Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest.

Here is a sad love poem that can help you acknowledge that.

thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! I lean to love, which leaves me lean, till lean turn into lack.