I watched her from afar before—
Before I spoke to her.
I watched her til my
patience wore
More
thin than I prefer.
I dreamt of future days with her—
Of days that would not be.
I dreamt of days I was too sure
She would accept most eagerly.
I could almost feel her gentle touch—
Almost taste her supple skin.
I almost thought she gave me such
Pleasure—as to be sin.
Then she turning, left my sight—
Left with an ironic grin.
And I burning, cursed my plight—
Cursed my cowardice within.
— Basil Chalmondeley