Love spoke of traditions from men of old,

words lost in the world’s weeds.

That which I had, merely fools gold,

heroes, nothing, without deeds.

But doubts crept up with tongue and fang,

the last of her songs sang.

So I bade Love welcome and she came,

still with cheer and tenderness.

Eve. Sit and drink in honor of thy name!

Join me, lay on my chest.

My heart seeks thy Presence, thy heart, thy love

Such had said the Dove!

No, this is not of Love, not of my God.

You are not my Adam.

Have you not prayed? Walked in the valley Broad?

God, you have abandoned.

Heavy feather, eyes blind, you know me not.

Your love is hellish naught.