Yonder by the brook you bask,
Under the deserts of the russet tree.
Winter’s dull sun doth warm thy mask,
Yet underneath you looked so lovely, so lonely!
Waiting for a happy incident of universe,
Waiting for your amoureux to arrive,
For desertion to desert you off its curse,
Love’s anguish to transcend into love’s drive.
Yet my darling, it is to be naught.
You shall wait day and night…
For green eyed Lady Fate is not to be fought,
And the Universe is above and beyond your might.
But when the wind waltz with your hair,
The sunrays when smothers your face with kiss,
When teary grass your solitude share,
Or russet foliage fall to ground for your bliss.
Do you then hope it were your lover instead,
To drive away your melancholy with amour?
And not Lady Nature’s passionate bed,
That you in all pleasantness ignore…