The fire that filled my heart of old 
Gave luster while it burned; 
Now only ashes gray and cold 
Are in its silence urned. 
Ah! better was the furious flame, 
The splendor with the smart; 
I never cared for the singer's fame 
But, oh! for the singer's heart 
Once more-- 
The burning fulgent heart! 

No love, no hate, no hope, no fear, 
No anguish and no mirth; 
Thus life extends from year to year, 
A flat of sullen dearth. 
Ah! life's blood creepeth cold and tame, 
Life's thought plays no new part; 
I never cared for the singer's fame, 
But, oh! for the singer's heart 
Once more-- 
The bleeding passionate heart!