I cannot say in words how much I've loved
For words help not t'express the lover's wish.
Canst thou not see the pain of being unloved?
Or more the languid dolence we anguish?
Now I have lost yon opportunity,
The fire of love has burned this heart of mine
Crying, waning, yonder atrocities
Committed for love, for this thought of thine.
But I shall make myself an oak that stands
Upon thy doors and howls thy name fore'er.
And nevermore this pain will understand,
The love I have for thee, my dear girl.
The hills that sing and dream about thy love
Think not that they shall be eroded, yea,
The willows chant their elegy forgone,
And rot in fetid, rancid ideals.
And walkest thou in vainest thoughts and lies,
Laughing at the trees and hills that, for you, died.
Waiting for mine heart to expire its last sighs.
How beautiful thou seem'st outside,
The sun is but a phantom by thy side.
But nay!
Thy soul is cruel and cold, like the darkest night.
©© 2005
(Hans Rik- nom de plume)
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