How Long Then, Can I Hurt, Inside My Heart? Poem by Moses Ocharo

How long then, can I hurt, inside my heart? ;
For love hath flown by, left me thus to mope.
That now I must with sackcloth sew my shirt;
With ash's paint my face of downward slope.
How now these eyes of mine refuse to flow;
Though wide, my mouth outbursts in woeful moan;
And now my blood doth coldly renounce its flow;
My perched throat also doth stiffenly groan.
But when I'll hold so right my faithful spirit,
To direct like a master at the drill,
And thus replay my song, to every bit
Resound. Till my soul be calm'd. So, be still.
And let me like a madman drown my sorrows,
Forget of what's of today's or of morrow's