Beggared one lover, beggared one wife
By a lurking Lothario who obviously
Feels no compunction from increased misery.
Is not lamentable already this life,
Without adding the absence of solace from strife?
Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani!
Renew as Thou promised; restore her to me.
Right now I'm a whetstone that but dulls the knife,
A desperate gen'ral who wins not the battle.
Spare me from being a ghost of love past
Who naught but his chains does mournfully rattle,
Whose sad ululations but leave her aghast.
Yet thus hast Thou willed it, so must it be;
Morose Thou'st made me, though I plucked no tree.
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