O love, give me one more chance
to mend my broken faith
for only your tonic salve
can heal our shattered play.
Compunctions rankle in my breast
for smouldering her virgin love
which like cool April showers
blessed my passion-parched earth.
A dream bird, her wan, distant eyes
staring aghast at me
make my heart melancholy;
where are their lucent stars?
Would to heaven this rare treasure,
this pure maid, chastely preserved -
hid for a moment in my chest,
is not forever buried.
I cannot clasp another shape
in the comfort of my arms
with this pain burning in my heart
for blowing out your blooming flame.
A grim guard at the gate of love, I pray,
grant me the favour of her hand again
and if I take even one betraying breath
then bare your fangs' hostile forces!
You cannot thrust her from my bosom,
for you, O love, have lit a flame in my heart
that neither god nor man can quench.