Oh how many more of those stars above
Shall I witness expiring like our love:
Coffee cups, your left slipper, notes and comb,
These restless visions of your summer tomb.
How much destitution shall I endure;
Our passion on this sagging bed gone sour,
Six thousand sighs that can’t forget
Supply my heart with rations of regret.
Reverie is pain or love will depart,