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Immortal Belovéd!—barren am I
of thee, for like the wild-haired Beethoven,
never will I know thine love till I die:—
a man without a beauteous woman,
or hearth and children to make his own. Bless
thee, my dear! For love, warmth, affection—these
things: hath abandoned me with thine egress
from my life for ever....This—my disease,
my curse—an affliction of both mind and soul,
leaves me without thee: and forever alone,
ne'er knowing tenderness to make me whole:
dear Lord, I've none to love or call mine own!
For if Thou art good, O God in heaven,
then wherefore consumes my life this leaven!?


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by Apple

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