Eons since you went from me
Into an alien world. And still
Stranger to beauty are all my days,
My nights dark making of libations
Where once the myrtle grew!
I could carry the weight of winter,
The glory of autumn nights and days,
But I cannot bear the spring.
And I am ill, unto death, my Beloved!
Sick with longing, sick with weeping,
Waiting for my heart to break.