day lost 1

A gust of the auster in the tenebrous air
Hath veiled the welkin with crepuscular umbrage,
The hipped tear of burden deprived of affair
Creepeth along the precipitous rampage.

Thy sorrel eyne turn betimes rubescent eft,
Sequacious hair strands flow beneath my soothed hands.
I hold my tongue- I am fordoing myself,
Thou hast made me so fain to descend

I beseech thee, bestow me my liege, one more morrow,
Prithee, shrive my sins and vouchsafe me a kiss.
In a sweven I fall and my rheum are my sorrow,
Clepe me ere I behold my quietus in bliss.