Beneath the dusk, with roses in my hand,

I waited where the quiet breezes land.

She came, her eyes, like twilight, full of ache,

No joy upon her lips for love to take.

I hid the tokens of a planned delight, For all she sought was warmth in fading light.

I pressed her close and asked what grief might be

She sighed, "Dear love, thou dream'st too much of me."