Long have my labours kept me from your arms,
and they're not worth the absence I have known
these past few years, and now those doubts and qualms
of confidence so mountainous have grown
that I, with obstacles and traps beset,
each dusk bring home less freedom to my soul,
since soul and body are in deepening debt
to those with whom I should have squared my toll;
but if I'm to be true to this, my art,
as art itself's as true as lovers are,
my canvas, painted with a blackened heart,
must show more brightly its redeeming star: