Oh me! I never knew sich weary hours a sense Of being half sick owns, whilst naught does avail, This fevered longing mine as clouds' thin veil Shows fragile blue skies, and warm notes from hence Akin to daffodils' gay yellows thence Abob to vagrant winds, where ne exhale But haunts like to a ghost in sheer betrayl, Nor moves the baby leaves hung in suspense. Pink mists frame naked boughs as buds now tour Those blackened skeletons of trees I do 'Non cherish in their wanting state, rain fer All that a moistened kiss mair fit to woo Than ist Baroque strains I sip coffee's cure To? Andrew, I swear oh, how I love you.