Burnt out is now my misery-- <br />love's yearning <br />No more unspeakably torments my heart, <br />Yet bearable alone through thee, my being-- <br />All thou art not is idle, stale and dying, <br />Colourless, withered, dead,--save where thou art! <br /> <br />If I no more through false suspicion trouble <br />Thy happiness,--nor more my blood inflames my veins, <br />It is not turned to ice 'neath snowy cover, <br />But free from jealousy, to thee thy lover <br />Always with soul of ardour true remains. <br /> <br />So in their rapid fury mountain torrents <br />That hurl them off their moss-grown altars steep, <br />Seeking the flood with tossing, foaming riot-- <br />Here in the vale are bound in the old currents, <br />To stream in future calm and clear and deep!<br /><br />Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/burnt-out-is-now-my-misery/
