Would it were come! I cannot brook delay
(Strange that delay, of all things, should be brooked,
Given that word in normal, everyday
English is a stream, and hardly looked
To for acceptance). No, I hate to wait
Especially for things that do me good
(But why? What would ameliorate
My station, it were better that I should
Wait for that than for aught else). Oh, come!
My heart grows heavy (that's an odd one too
My mass remains unchanged) and I am glum.
Yet I must wait: therefore what can I do
But ponder words, distract myself, and try
To muster patience and not simply sigh.
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