{73}

This woman loves to play
With my ardent desire, --
She who is sweet, without, and harsh, within.
Did I not tell you, Love, of all this fire
Nothing would come at all,
And that one loses everything one has,
Hoping to get from others?  But, alas,
If now she wants me to succumb and die,
It is my fault, not hers, for it was I
Who first believed her lie.