By now so sick of waiting, I'm by now <br />so beaten by the pain (by now the burn <br />won't stop and he forgets so quickly how <br />I trust in his return and how I yearn), <br /> <br />that I cry out for her to give me rest, <br />she of the pallid face and reaper's knife <br />whose chilly touch defines the edge of life, <br />so hard the need that grows within my breast. <br /> <br />But she is deaf and gives me no relief <br />as if she spurned my being mad with grief, <br />and deafly he denies himself to me. <br /> <br />My eyes are always wet, and weeping fills <br />this villa and its shore with misery, <br />while he lives smugly up there in his hills.<br /><br />Gaspara Stampa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-now-so-sick-of-waiting/
