These faithful verses play a double part,
For when the long frustration has relented,
They are the springs that well up in my heart
And flow at last and leave me then contented.
And in a sort they mend my poverty,
Who would not be an empty handed lover,
Since they borrow of their destiny
When richer offerings are faded over.
For, O my love, as I am rich in pain,
Whereof this lovers’ currency is minted,
So shall my passion’s homage yet remain,
Alternate pain and song and neither stinted:
And thus my sum of tribute shall increase
In taking both my pain and its release.