What fetid hope that sinks so low
Has crept in on the chilling wings
My silver soul has wept in cold
Distraught for futures yet unknown.
Destroy in me this lauded right
To happiness each day and night;
Instead compose more righteous clothes
Of eager hunger for your soul.
I need not change, nor speech, nor
Eyes alight upon my success.
Retrieve in me the yearning for
Your love, which left me dispossessed.