If I could count the seconds in the day

and watch them instantly pass through my sight,

I'd still be often forced to see the way

your face's colors brightened up the light.

I'd see you, though the time were e'er so short,

and wonder if I'd ever seen such grace;

I'd watch you, as I always do, at court

and hope for glimpses of that glowing face.

What holds me here against this darkened hope,

when all is full of failure and deceit,

when all the halls this house entails elope

and I remain, still lowly, still effete?

With what words left me I entreaty this:

if life is nothing, nothing holds its bliss.

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