Fruitless in present and memory

All with hope that it would bear

From mended roots a tree that cares

Yet now I feel with thorn in side

A splintered heart to wood confide

All for vain that I would be

The cause, the maker of calamity

Thus split now from my presence

From my thoughts my very essence 

And I shall look on to fields so dull

And you shall then grow independently full

But when I look back upon the prize I lost

Do not think I regret the cost

Of giving up a treasure dear 

Of surrendering to a battle queer

For what I lost, that I may gain

From a different girl with a different name.