Hopelessly Hopeful...

May fear be as morbid
As moon waned in the dark, cold night,
As love once had been sought
In the gloomiest places.
Darker than the darkest hour of yore,
A place where the battle had begun,
Not by a clash of swords nor by words,
But by the light of the brain.
Or is it by the shadows of day?
I listened listlessly to things
Which were yet revealed to men.
As those words rang in my ears,
I shuddered with a cry of fear.
...O, how horrible it was, beloved!
Unto thee my heart once durst to feel
The unknowable timbre of the senses.
Whither beauty imbues the reddening of roses,
Still, whatsoever it is, my spirit remains remorse...
May it be that love forgives me...
Or should I be?
Too late, my dear, it's too late!
This wanton affection,
Like the waning moon of the night,
Has bust itself from my languid soul.
It is a pity... (What a ghastly shame indeed!)
Where was hope when light had gone?
Where was hope when night had given way to dark?
Or is hope, like a withering romance, a delusion?
...I hope not.
O, how I hope not!

-An old draft.