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.