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I craved compassion from
you, got only reproach,
I craved compassion from you, got
only reproach,
I hoped your heart was wax, it
really was a stone.
Singed by jealous love, I stand
and speculate,
For whose dear sake you are
setting out bedecked!
None, alas has returned alive
from thy street,
The wretch who dared entrance,
came out
deceased.
So badly wrecked is the habitat
of my heart,
A marauding host, it seems this
way has passed.
The drop of tear globule of
blood, a fragment of my
heart and guts.
Each one a beadily foe, good
they quit my eyes.
I thought you would write, O
Mir at most a word or
two,
But your epistle was a long
discourse on love. |