The Yellow Book/Volume 8/Aubade
Aubade
So late last night I watched with you, and yetYou come to wake me while the dews are grey,Before the sun is forth upon his way,Almost as though you feared I might forget.
And still you count, unmoved, importunate,Each pitiful item in my sorrow's freight—As lovers all their vows before they partOver and over recapitulate—Though well you know I have it all by heart.
O Grief, this little while forbear, refrainTelling your beads so loud, so soon, again,Tuning your summons to the blackbird's song.Here, where the dawn hangs dark in lawn and tree,Do but a little longer wait for me,I, who am mindful of you all day long.