What is this passion thou speakst of?
I have tried to find it, yet for vain.
Perhaps it is a product of thine imagination,
I have felt it not, as a tender rain.

Being thine was all that I felt needed,
To be embraced by thee hath kept me fed.
For the lust thou claimst to hath been absent,
Was in that same night to absence wed.

Since in that night I wept engulfed,
By sorrow and regret anew,
For I shall never be embraced by thee,
Despite my fragrant mirth in view...

I shall not crave for thee today,
Since I have risen from thy lonesome wake.
And thou shall be reminded,
To search for passion in thy tears' lake..

For even when I could tell thee,
Of this burden of mine, anew inflamed,
I have chosen to spare thine innocence,
And let thee forever walk wild, untamed...

לא היו לי מילים מוצלחות.
את אמרת שאני יכול לספר לך הכול. אז הנה.