I do not have more than I wrote in me
With purple ink and from my soul a gift
Of golden words and gentle deeds will be
Enough today for losses that you grieved.
Don't beg for more, 'cause I'm renouncing all
And I am asking nothing in return;
All mighty pride and glory like a thrall
And all the comfort and the wit I've earned.
But in the end, if love will flourish white
In May, I'll be a poet that still lives
And has the heights of Parnas in his sight,
But for the poems he will lack motives.
I'll be the traitor that will rot in jail
Whatever you or muses will prevail.