The flame of hope is now an ember.
The fuel of desire burning old.
As the door shuts upon your pretty face,
I am again left out in the cold.

For a long year I have wanted you;
Your face to kiss, your hands to hold.
Nothing returned, my heart--it wanes.
The wolf is leaving the lustful fold.

I grow older, I must move on
But I am running out of time.
As periods of life draw to a close,
I know I approach the end of the rhyme.

I should never have dreamed that I could.
Us together, that you actually would.

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