Nothing to be sorry for,
Nothing to regret;
To ponder endless hours o’er –
To worry, moan, or fret.

Naught of which to be ashamed
And wish had never been;
To know that all things have a price
And wonder – what or when?

Knowing that I’ve made a choice
And done just what I should,
Why then do I feel bereft
Instead of smugly good?

Brenda Lee Renwick

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lamentable-virtue/