1. When will this troubled vision clear,
And wayward arrows homeward steer?

2. When can I roam without the fear
Of censure or of watchman near?

3. A gentle breeze from you would bring
Delight - your fragrance gladdening.

4. But we're apart - my hands now wring
This aching heart you've pierced and stung.

5. My thoughts dwell on our home while I
Burn with desire and longing sigh.

6. The clouds rain down while here I lie,
Barren, though others are supplied.

7. Some shunned me, so I wander, try
Each path, though all blocked, by and by.

8. I face the sun, its harsh beams fly
And scorch my outstretched arms - Oh why?

9. Passion or death - we both draw nigh.
True brothers, swords sharp honed. But I

10. Have merit you do not. We vie
Like wrestlers locked and bound.

11. My poems that I shape and ply
With skill surpass yours. Do not cry

12. Defeat too soon, the end is nigh.
My polished verses you decry,

13. Yet their perfection you can't deny.
Your peers I readily outvie.

14. My odes of pearls none else can vie.
I choose my thoughts and purify

15. My words until perfection's nigh.
My poems all defects defy

16. Immune from any scorn or lie.
I humble all who poetry try

17. With verses sculpted fair and spry.
I cull and shape them carefully

18. To make great art my goal on high.
With them I mocked that company

19. Of foolish poets. Hear them cry!
My faithful promise I apply

20. To love - if ever it goes awry
Or I transgress, cast me away.

21. A stalwart fellow, though years fly
My bonds of love will never die.

22. With passion I shape and comply
Poems that judge and specify.

23. Flawless art I perpetually
Strive to perfect and sanctify.

24. It shames your faulty poetry.
I frustrate all who versify.

25. My mind selects the thoughts that lie
Deep inside and magnify

26. The art you crave but can't defy.
When the birds flew, I cried Oh why?

27. It seemed to my poor wounded heart
They had all fled, left me to die.

28. If her glances miss me, her eye
Falters, not fixed steadfastly.

29. She turns away though innocent, I
Weep, wishing things were as they used to be.

30. While severance burns me, unjustly
I say “This hand of mine - take, see!