Your Beauty Burns Like A Wild Fire,
Like One In A Forest It Burns Its Path.
My Heart Burns Away At Your Frozen Desire,
Consuming All With A Burning Wrath.
Like A Tree Deprived Of Its Sustenance,
To The River That Ignores It.
You Do Deprive My Countenance,
The Fires Do Abhor It.
To Not Be Loved Is My Greatest Shame,
As The Ash Tree Laughs At The Barky Willow.
Like The Steed Not Loved Cause It Is Lame,
Do The Loved Men Laugh At The Love Struck Fellow.
If My Love’s Not Returned I Shall Grow Cold,
And Wither Away As I Grow Old.