My love is but a fallen leaf,
You must login to vote
Half covered, tossed, and disarrayed.
It is a solitary grief
On rapid waters half displayed;
Though another you may follow,
Requited passively, unheard,
It is foolish love, and hollow,
By prescence of another spurred.
Though I may love less tommorrow,
By no means a fault of yours,
It is to only though me burrow
To love you more than yester-years.
A look, a dew off your sweet brow
Is my solace in my sleeping,
And as sunrise through evening plow,
Let not love begin with wheeping.