You are to me, the distant sea.

You would not love Euridyce.

Your golden eyes, they did not see

The way she cried, "Please, look at me!"

I loved your eyes, your voice so fair.

Your antics, and your auburn hair.

Now I see one with hair like snow,

With whom to Tartarus I'll go.

A gleaming scimitar he wields-

Yes, we just met three weeks ago.

We'll traverse through Elysian Fields,

My pure white angel and I.

So go pursue that girl of brie,

And know that she shall not love thee.