The art of loving, which I allowed to fall into the hands of strangers, when will I find the solace that I could not find from your own hand?

This profound couplet captures the agony of betrayal and misplaced pain. The poet laments that the hand of affection, the source of comfort, has fallen into the hands of strangers. He questions when he was ever safe from the sharpest pain, implying that the true wound always comes from the beloved's own actions, or the realization of their indifference. It's a powerful lament about the depth of emotional dependency.