I know the frost lies thin and leaves grow yellow.
I know my previous foolish things and
Better seasons past with my last actions.
I know my own disgraces, and my shallow
Pooling parts, yet let one thing be mine to know.

I would implore, but I know it's against
Your favour of flavour or simply taste.
So spare me despair with even slightest care.
Thus let your ears slowly hear, maiden fair,
Words which flicker and flutter to convey
In, out and about, through softened air.
Know if it's not too great a disturbance,
We could speak and joke with unseen smokes that dance
And laugh as we smell the blooming lilacs.
To be to the point, it's better I ask.
Will it be harsh electric candescence
That outshines dwindling starlight
Or simply your sweet semblance in the night?