The Second Oldest Story

Go I must along my ways
  Though my heart be ragged,
Dripping bitter through the days,
  Festering, and jagged.
Smile I must at every twinge,
  Kiss, to time its throbbing;
He that tears a heart to fringe
  Hates the noise of sobbing.

Weep, my love, till Heaven hears;
  Curse and moan and languish.
While I wash your wound with tears,
  Ease aloud your anguish.
Bellow of the pit in Hell
  Where you're made to linger.
There and there and well and well-
  Did he prick his finger!