Perhaps I presume too much, and thou hast already dismissed me.
Wiped clean the scene from the slate of thy mind,
And already put me aside to distant memory.
Why then, oh, thoughts unkind!
Cannot I, thy face dismiss?
Cast thou those thoughts that linger on that happy hour,
And wipe away thy touch and kiss?
Thy perfume, sweeter than any flower;
More heady than claret wine.
Why is it then my mind doth flee
To dwell upon that time?
When I know where my place should be.
Thou, I should forget,
And consign thee and fond memories to regret.
- Author Unknown
