Forget? Regret? I’ll never do either:
We were happy for an interlude in time.
Painful it was when we left each other,
But Love’s habit of charging, as a price, pain,
Is not, ironically, so shrewd a crime
That I should regret ever having paid
For an interlude of bliss, during which
We were contented, complete, and so well-laid.
Then we knew happiness of a different sort
Than the satisfactory existence
Endured before we played Love’s part,
And now endured with time and distance.
Memories of happiness sustain Love’s force;
Let's not defile them with bitter remorse.