Within my bosom hides,
As in the mountain 'neath its crust of snow
The flame abides.
Long have I yearned in vain to kiss her feet,
I lay my weary head
Down in the dust, that thus my lips may greet
Where she may tread.
No wealth have I, but like the moth I live:
Since love demands a price,
I, like the moth, have but my life to give