• My silent hour comes at last,
    Awakened by the dawn.
    For while I slumber, all that's passed,
    Upon my heart, is drawn.

    Oh silent morbidity, thy fateful guise,
    Of a most faithful and beguiling smile,
    Would that you were so less wise,
    I might yet stay awhile.

    But to stay would give you leave,
    To delve deeper than you ought,
    And my emotions, as through a sieve,
    Would be ever to you, wraught.

    Oh bloody dagger, silken blade!
    Your trail upon my window pane.

    You've left me only marks of things,
    That never should have been.

    Haunt me no more, this unbearble light,
    That seeps within my sight,
    Leave me now to my sweet night,
    Which in my heart is ever bright.

    Do I say too much, or speak too little?

    I drink of the chalice of my own perfidy,
    I meant it not, but so it was,
    And so has always been,
    Not to my love unfaithful,
    But to mine heart,
    Which is the greater friend.

    Alas, to all but me, I've been so faithful,
    And now it's come to naught.
    For beauty is a prize that lies,
    Where other loves do not.