Low Burning

The fire of love burns low tonight, my fair;
I read some history, a Shakespeare play,
And leave at rest awhile my ardent breast.
Yet every other minute it is you
Who catch me, and I go off, astray,
To come back harder and do what I would do.
I would not shut you out completely, no.
Or, rather, could not, though I willed it so.
You’re part of me, un-parted my life through,
And I, I’d rather die than part from you.
Come fast, tomorrow! You hours, make speed!
Fly for the assuagion of my need!
I need, yea, need that innocence of she
To sing again my soul to harmony!

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