Bequeath my heart and tremble at its grip
Though modest true holds not my love of thee
And if, by fate, I’d know soft by your lip
Your eyes (once not of glass) shall never see
The knowledge never seeped into your soul
Composed of purity; my jaded love
Will forever be lost, myself not whole
An endless tune no others have heard of

Suns and moons and sands of the endless shore
Are cast aside as rest is sure to come
A lost wanderer longs for ever more
With a face of tears only seen by some
And though within the night my love is lost
A thought of warmth will lead me through the frost