Shapes of Clay

Because that I am weak, my love, and ill,

I cannot follow the impatient feet

Of my desire, but sit and watch the beat

Of the unpitying pendulum fulfill

The hour appointed for the air to thrill

And brighten at your coming. O my sweet,

The tale of moments is at last complete—

The tryst is broken on the gusty hill!

O lady, faithful-footed, loyal-eyed,

The long leagues silence me; yet doubt me not;

Think rather that the clock and sun have lied

And all too early, you have sought the spot.

For lo! despair has darkened all the light,

And till I see your face it still is night.