When working words and rhymes to ruin fall
And I with burning eyes so weary cry
To that High King, who wrought this world and all
Who dwell within, asking why my art must die,
Why possess I flames that from passion grow
If they but consume me until I am exhaust’d
To ashes that flurry like sheets of falling snow
On every passage that came to naught but loss,
Then I wonder why I for so long fought
To build Him up with staves of steely song
So man may see what they have always sought:
My God, who made my heart, yet not hands, strong.  
If you are cruel as all of this
Perhaps is best to burn in the abyss.

Then let no longer blinding Vanity
Her sightless visions make me sightless cry
When people overlook my poetry
Or hide it from the whetted public eye.
Affixed she to my eyes this future glassed:
Two separate ends fill each a crystal lens,
In one my sadness, in one joy forecast,
And happiness on gaining fame depends.
Come now and whisper what she cannot see:
That I shall always be a happy man
As long as our love burns inside of me,
Love blessed by God according to His plan.
If, my love, you make these words ring true
Then I shall know my happiness is you.