There is a word past uttering
The only word my tongue would say:
Oh, sweetest, fairest, dearest, best, in silence I must go my way!
Oh, blinded eyes deprived of light;
Oh, hunger that is never fed;
Oh, love that yearns, denied the right
To kiss a tress upon that head;
Oh, broken life, creep far from sight
To hide where pity makes thy bed
For glory, fame, and wealth are stones to me, a beggar craving bread.”