I suffered from that sylvan smile
she wore that day upon the stile,
within the forest’s golden glade,
where we had sat to share the shade.
That day of love’s first tender kiss,
when I was blessed and burnt by bliss,
I suffered, in her cruel caress,
from shape so stunning in that dress!
For in my deepest heartache’s core,
her face, I knew, I’d see no more
within this vale of broken dreams
where soul-destroying, savage streams
do wash away, with heartless flood,
the girls, who have beguiled our blood,
but like the Buddha taught in youth:
‘to suffer is a noble truth!’