Passion's Promise With No Certain End

My lady it is me,

Thy most unwilling servant.

Nay, slave to thee,

By my own passion.

Have I not served thee better

Far better than all others?

Have I not offered you

The dew of mourning

From my eyes, heart, and soul?

Have not my veins

Poured out to you

A lustful homage,

Fit for no other?

Has not my will,

In thrall to thee,

Been bound, broken,

Distorted in so many ways?

It is I, my lady,

Thy most unwilling slave,

Here again to sacrifice

Myself to you

With open wrists

Upon the alter of thy bed.