How very desolate that breast must be, Whose only joyance is in memory! And what must woman suffer, thus betrayed?- Her heart's most warm and precious feelings made But things wherewith to wound: that heart-so weak, So soft-laid open to the vulture's beak! (Letitia Elizabeth Landon)

How very desolate that breast must be, Whose only joyance is in memory! And what must woman suffer, thus betrayed?- Her heart's most warm and precious feelings made But things wherewith to wound: that heart-so weak, So soft-laid open to the vulture's beak!

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

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