You have given all—oh sorry barter
You have lit the fire for you the martyr.
You will still love on, or turn to hating,
Days depart, your heart stays in its waiting,
Where's the blame? She gave her heart's half measure,
All she had, for all your soul's full treasure.
What's the half to keep, could you achieve it?
What your treasure if you could retrieve it?
Never more shall you again bestow it ...
Now you have a song if you're a poet.