Her dreams become her deepest fright,
And make insipid days drag on.
Chagrin so shrewdly taints her laugh
That no one notices has gone.

They tell her she will soon forget
The paltry whips she tolerated,
But every blissful memory
Makes her heart more serrated.

Even though such time has passed,
She cannot help but hurt with passion.
Nor can she resist her heart,
Which dies in quite the cruelest fashion.

Even though the years were long
And what once was has fled,
Every past love left his mark
On her, now languid, left for dead.