Always to suffer so, to want and weep
With woe that groweth every day more deep;
To don the green robe of tormented scorn,
And ever curse the hour that love was born !
Furies, my Sisters! have you no surcease
For me to whom no death shall bring release ?
They name me Jealous One. They hate my name,
The ages hold me high to endless shame;
How, if I suffer so, does no one care
And pity, for the wrath that I must bear ?
Gods ! let me go, your service wrecks and sears,
The vase must break that holds so many tears.