Not my Jon anymore, not Dear,
And ne’er again will be, I fear.
One broken heart? But there are two,
And mine the worse for leaving you.

Two kinds of love, with his more true,
Mean different speeds of getting through--
He moved on fast, therefore, since he
Wanted what was best for me.

But choosing what I could not feel,
My love, for trouble, was more real.
So while his passion had its strengths,
My love has had the longer length.

Just as fast as a blind love falls,
So too it raises when, appalled,
The object of it flees for fear.
No longer can I call you Dear.