(after Sir Thomas Wyatt)
They seek me now that sometime did me flee
With faltering step they meet me at my table
I have seen them laugh with scorn and glee
That now do not remember how they were able
To set aside my charms before. They ramble,
Attempt to keep my interest--oh, they try--
Seeking their reflection in my eye.
Now they plead with me to grant them favor
But why should I, when, in my youth and fair
Of face, they had no time, and only swore
They had a date in some other smoky lair,
Pretended that they could not leave a pair
Of cufflinks on my bureau--no, not mine--
They had too many calls upon their time.
But all is turned around now, though my mind
Continues gentle, still it is bitter
To think that being built of stronger kind
Did little to commend my suit, fitter
My heart for loving them than they ever
Knew, though now it seems that they are ill-served
With what they thought I was so richly deserved.