My Own Contrition

Alas, sweet sorrow, sing no more;
Bereavement, be gone from me.
Hearken thou to hell-flames door—
Tears which were cried by me.

Hearken, ghosts of paling mists
Be gone for the night hath passed;
Wallow in thy weeping wish
For a love that was lived to last.

Sickness of shadow, hear me out
And question not my deeds;
Leave me with your quivering doubts
For—to hell—thy whisper leads.

Hear me now, damsel of gold—
Sweet, seductive, angelic dove—
Hear this now: the whisper told
Of my hearts undying love.

Which heaven heard, my own petition;
My poem penned, sincere contrition.