How weak a heart I often think must lay within my chest

...A fleshy palm with only thumb and ring

Its missing parts proclaim it nil still rotting in my breast

...And only spare one love on which to cling

Quakey and bewildered but a boy of seventeen

...Fell ill beneath the vexes of a queen

And long beyond the point of fingers parting from their nails

With fervor I clenched hard upon that dream...