O take my love not for granted my dear,
for my heart is but that of a man.
The flames of ardour quivering in despair,
as your cold neglect upon her forms wear.
Unconditionally I gave you my complete self,
yet how you have abandoned my affectionate being.
I am lost in a forest of no empathy,
with the final glimpse of a hope for my humanity.
How little you cherish even my most cordial affections,
how you tread harshly on my gracious passions;
how worthless have my existence become,
when you left my fidelity in an empty canyon.
O but you shall not bear the blames for my soul,
for you know not love nor the void in my chest.
If I am soon to be a heartless ghoul,
then let my heart be slain in jest.
***
Yet still there is hope onto which I cling,
although for all the sorrows I must swallow.
If only you would treasure this nonpareil love,
and the frailty of life under the unfeeling hollows.
To thyself be true my friend