"ALL your sorrow, Louise, and hatred of me
  Sprang from your delusion that it was wantonness
  Of spirit and contempt of your soul’s rights
  Which made me turn to Annabelle and forsake you.
 You really grew to hate me for love of me,
 Because I was your soul’s happiness,
 Formed and tempered
 To solve your life for you, and would not.
 But you were my misery.
 If you had been
 My happiness would I not have clung to you?
This is life’s sorrow:
That one can be happy only where two are; 
And that our hearts are drawn to to stars
Which want us not."