What more, What more? O shaggy winds
To quench my soul and freeze my blood,
To curb my breaths, curtail friends,
Hopes’ comrads, heap upon ne mud.
What else than betrayals of loves,
Dire wrong and heinous deeds performed,
Where are those ‘shams’ pelicans and doves,
That spare blood to dears, peace to stormed.
I wish I try and fight to see
Nightingale’s wounds dressed wings unplucked,
But treachery ruled unchecked and free
As heaven deny bloom to rose-bud.
With all this and more resolute,
I stand to wrath, tortures and brute.