I left my room one summer night
to view the day's redress.
I deemed with all my earthly might
to learn of its caress.
The breeze blew gently through the leaves,
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but chilled my frail display.
The dastard breeze slinked up my sleeves;
it settled in slight decay.
Was I the cause of this slight shun
this sudden break, demure?
Was I a once discolored Hun,
bold but not mature?
I though; I knew. I thought; I lied.
If only to know the why.
Was I the cause of this betide,
this swill in calm July?