Where art thou?

Post is the day,

With the night almost spent.

Where is my love light?

Without it, I will surely become unsteady,

And am apt to stumble in the night.

Where is my love who has taught the stars to shine,

Which have guided me on such nights as this?

Foul is the northern wind

That would snuff a candle

While it is being lit!

And what of your absence?

Is this some foul trickery?

Is this some evil witchery?

Has a hag turned thee into a beast,

And I can not understand your howls,

With you altered, incapable of a knowable voice?

Yes, this must be the path to my harvest.

Love would not replant itself,

When it had found  such fertile ground.

Yet, here I stand alone admitting impediments,

And I am shaken from this tempest.

Answer my cries; allow me to lament no more!

By chance do my eyes simply deceive me

And  I am turned an ass

Conjured from my own jealousy?

And I using my own tears have created the hags brew.

Thus, I, not familiar with loves book of spells

Am only creating another Shakespearean tragedy.