I'll wait for thee by th' red bricks;
I'll wait for thee to cite and speak;
To recite me a poem by th' lake;
To swing by me by th' games of fate;

I'll wait for thee by th' blue moon;
To speak love and fill my heart soon;
Whenst all hath not'ing else but lust;
T'is passion be th' one t'at lasts;

Yet 'till th' blow of my last breath,
T'is love is hate--and life is evil;
'Till all's alive and hath no death;
Thou stay untold and knoweth not to feel;

Thou art th' piece of an old song;
Singing and sobbing all day long;
I am absorbed in thy cold charms;
Within th' light warmth of thy arms;

Thou art a pale piece of poetry;
Sitting and mumbling here with me;
Hearing my heartbeat grow faster;
Thou hath th' heat and cold of summer;

Thou art th' dark line of a poem;
Bursting into my tears and gloom;
Enduring dusk and plain nightfalls;
By th' morning ended it all;

How if I've sought thee all along;
For we hath none to suffer with;
With a loving heart wild and young;
Waning through summer's bland sweet song;

How if I feed thee to my past;
A bleak moment o'r lives should hate;
A moment I have left in haste;
A torture to o'r craving hearts;

How if I feed thee to my chest;
In whose layers thou shalt find rest;
From East to th' end of th' West;
My love is at its very best.