This Sunday morn in café still,
I sought my well-loved tea;
But Lady Grey had fled the shelf,
And would not wait for me.

The server spoke with kindly care,
And showed regret sincere;
"Alas, we've none remaining now,
Take Earl Grey while he's here."

Now Earl is worthy of his name,
Refined in cup and steam;
Yet Lady bears a gentler grace,
The queen of every dream.

Her citrus notes like sunlight fall
Through Kildare mist and rain;
While Earl, though loyal, cannot soothe
My disappointed pain.

A gay man mourning one fair dame
May raise some puzzled eyes;
Yet hers is not the sort of love
That marriage laws comprise.

No faithless act is found in this,
Nor scandal to report;
I merely miss her fragrant charms
When citrus runs so short. 

Yet hope remains beside the plate,
The promise has been made;
The café vows she'll soon return,
To see my patience paid. 

Until that blessed, happy day,
I'll bear the Earl's decree;
But secretly I'll lift my gaze
And long for Lady G.