Virgin Cruelty: Sonnet To A Passing Waitress

Must thou so tempt me with thy grace
And make me suffer with thy pride?
Is not the longing on my face
Enough to draw thee to my side?
Thy every step, when walking by,
Is like a drum within my heart.
Each careless word, o cruel lie!
Though thou’rt so near, so far apart!
Do not elude me, sweetest dream
And make me beg for what is mine!
For if fire brings to steel its gleam,
Then suffering should make thee mine!
If I should die without thy kiss,
Then Death indeed, my only bliss!