My heart is but a bed of paltry thistle weeds and beech
without a voice to speak aloud its pity, joy and grief
but where it waits in cool amongst these simple, reaching brambles
the tiny feet of new born love might set it free to amble.

Complacent and trepid it curls away, my heart is gone from my mind
And damn my folly, my cautious ways, which left my heart raw in kind,
but mourn not yet, my sojourn love, who knows not where my heart resides.
My voice and manner will still yet be a gentle salve and rigorous guide.

And this passion burns! Though you may never know just how deep my affections lie,
My newborn love, crushed in first breath, before it could stand or stride.
But I'll love thee yet, through pain and blight, I'll love thee yet, my dear,
to the ends of the Earth and beyond the sky, till night last sheds its' final tear.