Hark to thy slave!
“Spill this hot blood that courses in vain for him,
Darken these eyes that are heavy with pain for him,
Smite the parched lips that he sees but to spurn them,
The hands stretched in love ... take them, break them and burn them!
“Then, in the place where lately he strode,
Mingle mine ash with the dust of the road;
Thus, though I win not a glance from his eye,
Thus, though as ever he pass me by
Careless, unseeing, at least my lord’s heel