Disclaimer: His Dark Materials belongs to Philip Pullman, and I am not he.

I do not love the land where you are found,
Where He is but a creature, pained by years,
His adversaries noble and renowned,
His stewards scoundrels, only fit for sneers.

Yet still you haunt my dreams, my thoughts, my fears,
O faithful one, who never could betray,
My hopes, my joys, my peace, my pains, my tears,
Regarding me with eyes of stormy gray.

And yet, to face the doom of that decay
That Miss Belacqua swears would be our end –
To trade forever for a single day…
Yet such a day, with you, my soul, my friend…

'Tis well for me the choice shall not arise,
For oh! I do not know – could I be wise?