You did not come,
and marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there,
Than that I thus found lacking in your make,
That high compassion which can overbear Reluctance for pure loving kindness’ sake, Grieved I.
When, as the hope-hour stroke ticks sum, You did not come.
You love not me,
And love alone can lend you loyalty- I know and knew it.
But, unto the store of human deeds divine in all but name,
Was it not worth a little hour or more To add yet this:
Once you, a woman, came to soothe a time-torn man,
even though it be, You love not me.