I've spent too many hours in this way,
Sighing pointlessly to have you here,
Knowing deep inside what I should fear:
You didn't want to come here anyway.
It got so frequent I knew what to say
Before it even happened, and could peer
A little through the millstone to make clear
The reason why you would not come today.
So it is hard, in some ways, to accept
That, in despite of past experience
And reams of well-attested evidence
In whose accumulation I'm adept,
That you wish you were here as much as I:
But knowing that, I'm happy while I sigh.
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