IMPATIENT were my hands, and in their haste

Never could they untie the knot of fate,

So vain it is to wail my life laid waste,

My hours unfortunate.

And strange it is that even in my heart

The sweet tormenting flame of my desire

Is quenched; impatiently I pulled apart

The brands and killed the fire.

And never did the blossoms of success

Within my hope’s enchanted garden bloom,

And my fair beacon-light of happiness

Is sunk in gloom.

Faithless Belovèd, many friends are Thine;

So many love and have been loved by Thee,

They give their hearts, what carest Thou for mine?

What need hast Thou of me?