of my night of sorrow was merely a tale to them; they believed part of it and disbelieved the rest.

The poet captures the quiet heartbreak of pouring your soul out to someone who treats your agony merely as casual entertainment. What was a devastating, sleepless night of grief for the lover was heard by the beloved like an intriguing bedtime story—believed only in parts, and doubted in others. It tenderly exposes the painful emotional distance between living through a tragedy and merely listening to it.