1. The ruins of a house wrapped in oblivion’s shroud
Whose hands, in their very destruction, seem yet proud

2. I pass by, then it calls, bending waist in woe
That slender shape, more graceful in its overthrow

3. It asks, do you love me still? My friends all died here
For me and it, still flows your heart’s love, sincere?

4. Does it think my heart empty of passion for it?
What heart from its love could ever stay clear?

5. God pardon it, though it wronged me, it’s my soul
I hope who’s erred finds in the end grace to make all whole

6. I see her eyes intoxicated, and mine by desire drunk
How can I sober be, when her glances at me are sunk?

7. I know injustice is bitter to taste
But from her, even that is honey, pure and chaste