Heartbeats and shadows
patter, beating out the cadence
of the ancient lover's cry.
Tense is the refrain
secret endearments claim,
a melting of resolve
does not such deceit absolve.
Were all our failings so,
better that we might perceive
enchantments and phantoms.
Oh! The tacit consent
of sweet and innocent,
erectors of sturdy lore
set to avert the bore.
And then when uncovered,
pitiful in undulations,
left to strip a quiet thrill.
The last of those to feel
may know of shadows real,
such as is plain
for lovers without name.
Philessatry 