Through night and day, and spite allay,
'Tis plight from which I will decay.
Despite dismay, contrite delay,
Indite, will I, through words convey.
By joy of chance, and cloy of glance,
My choice had then deprived advance.
My voice would plead for one more dance,
Employed was my unjust romance.
The rules would bend, for you my friend,
A new companionship would mend.
Not long till hope it would suspend,
And from within, heartache distend.
Alas, my fate, was all but great,
As I'd await a date of late,
A day one less than day of eight,
Would lay upon me endless wait.
Foreboded ruse, my endless blues,
Confused, infused, my heart abused,
My soul suffused and yours refused
To see like mine, benign bemused.
Shall I comply that you defy,
And thus deny that you and I,
Had chance of hope, of hope to die,
Without adieu, without goodbye?