And still she calls and still I know not why,
For plain it is to see that I cannot
commit to say our love will never die,
  Or remember all the lust that I forgot.

I ache to tell the truth and so concede
the fire in my heart is on the wain,
and gift my mourning soul this noble deed.
But,
       Cowardice is easier than pain.

Tomorrow I'll pretend to talk once more,
And cheat myself that everything is fine.
I'll marvel how her passion can endure
  And wish to say the same
                                               that love of mine.