Go from my window like fresh morning's dew
whose sparkle lasts but an hour or two
while o'erlaying the fields in fair dawn's sight,
bestowing heavensent but short-lived delight.

Go from my window like the blush of a rose
whose sweetness fades, petals dry up and close
leaving behind only dead leaves and thorns
to draw dearest blood from the hand it adorns.

Go from my window like the blithe sun of day
(so silently, stealthily slips he away)
whose visage is comely yet often unkind,
leaving naught but swooning and burning behind.

Go from my window like the robin in fall
whose anthem abides but a few months in all,
taunting me with my hopes that he'll stay
to keep the wild winter's tempests at bay.

But come once again to my window tonight
when radiant, replete, is the moon with delight.
So silently, stealthily, slip ye on through
and abide with my heart for an hour or two.