Pursuit of an Ideal

November is come and i wait for you still
O nimble-footed nymph who slipped me when
I sighted you among some silly men
And charged you with the power of my will
Headlong I charged to make a passionate kill
Too easy, far too easy, I cried then
You are not worth one drop from off my pen
O flower of the common light, the thrill
Of common things raised up to angelhood
Leaped in your flirt-wild legs. I followed you
Through April, May and June into September
And still you kept your lead till passion's food
Went stale within my satchel. Now I woo
The footprints that you make across November