Since from my heart's deep roots have sprung these lays,
A heart not to be silenced any more;
Now I am like to Tasso who of yore
Would sing his Leonora's fame and praise.
He could not plead his love whose tortouous maze
Bemused his years of youth, and fiercely tore
His life beyond all hope; and yet he bore
The burden he revealed in secret phrase.
My passion is aflame, although I find
Your glance gives me no hope when you are near;
Lest I offend, my lips are sealed by fear.
My poor heart's fate, so bitter and unkind,
My secret burden - all this they make dear,
These tear-stained flowers of a poet's mind,
