Cruel Amarilli.

Why even your name with its calling to love,

But hint of the bitter too,

Teaches just how sour love’s wine can be.

Amarilli, Amarilli,

Like the pale flower of the privet

Only paler, more perfect;

Like the deaf adder

Only more deaf, more adder, more slither-quick.

Since you’re so insulted by what I say,

Since even my voice causes you offence

I’ll speak not another word, but fade away

And fading, cease … in silence.

Click to listen (opens in new window)