My love was never written, anywhere, any day.
My love was never spoken, in any honest way.
No one has ever heard it, not even for a while.
My love.
Love is born within the heart,
Yet no one ever felt its flame.
I never offered it to anyone,
Nor bound my soul to any name.
As passing years have slipped away,
All earthly longings fade each day.
Still, I often think within:
It was something lost back then.
It is something lost again,
As it has always, now and then.
The only thing I prayed to keep
Was solitude, serene and deep.
Now no longing fills my heart;
My virtue stands, untouched, apart.
So my love became this way.
So my love remains today.
