Well might you yet quite over-reach yourself
while night frets the mantle of our failed fate.
Now shirks the murky contagious clouds’ pelf
in surfeits of a thick rich foggy state.
Do you dare to imagine we might yet…
we might yet venture together again?
How dare you my heart so doubtful  a get,
so bold an adventure, so rash, so vain?
But you are bankrupt, as flush clouds arise.
Your penury cries; it pleads; it’s in rags.
What truth if any between your lines lies
begs for a truce, lingers long and then lags.
  Still, I do hear all your sorrowful pleas.
  Would that they were true .  They might well appease.