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?