To me, my lover, you will always be pure,
The beauty of time suits you.
O how the cold wind was hard to endure,
Alas it eases with the start of the morning dew.
At first sight it was an eternal flame,
But now the weight of your love was at a cost;
Nor shall I ask who speaks of thy name.
Why do all such loves become lost?
Like most regrets, they too shall fade.
If it was easy then I would relinquish my pain,
But no sooner than the sharpness of a blade;
No; these tempting thoughts I shall refrain.
So as long as I breathe this numbing air,
So long lives your love for which is rare.