VI.

No rising sun or new day's dawn will tempt my mood,
A frozen state of mind without its muse.
For in thine absence I am prone to brood,
My journal tattered so from overuse.

The lifeline for my longing soul is thus:
Each passing day hath hasten'd your return.
O joyous day, when "I" becometh "us,"
What bliss there is when Lovers need not yearn.

Though unrequited love's tragic indeed,
In love denied there is far greater crime.
For no surrounding force will yet concede,
But turns all spring to bitter wintertime.

Alas, there is naught else to do but stay,
And outwait time until our blessed Day.