In intimacy there exists a lineThat can't be crossed by passion or love's art --In awful silence lips melt into oneAnd out of love to pieces bursts the heart.And friendship here is impotent, and yearsOf happiness sublime in fire aglow,When soul is free and does not hearThe dulling of sweet passion, long and slow.Those who are striving toward it are in fever,But those that reach it struck with woe that lingers.Now you have understood, why foreverMy heart does not beat underneath your fingers.

I know: yes, no, even I must tear offThe delicate daisy petals.Everyone on earth is destined to feelThe torments of love.

For this gloomy beast within my breast - A heart. But the thing is,We've all had to learn not to sleep for three years.In the morning we shall find outWho has died in the night.

A loss, but who still mourns the breath of one woman, or laments one wife? Though my heart never can forget, how, for one look, she gave up her life.