By my love’s sweet words
Am I, once again, inspired.
She bringeth magic!
“By any song thou dost sing, my dearest one.
To heal, to rest, or to fret the tyme away
Only thus, that thou shouldst hold fast
And defy the daylight.”
- Writeth My Dearest
Category Archives: Sonnets with Introductions
Sonnet I: Throughout All Time
Throughout, within, the night’s surrounding warm,
Distraught of daylight’s merciless advance:
One hand to touch, though trembling, my arm;
One smile’s joy, one smile’s graceful dance;
One kiss sustains, one kiss throughout the night;
One touch through daylight’s cruel and bitter sting;
One tear, upon one cheek, what solace might
It bring, that touch and smile and kiss would sing?
What voice? What dulcet tone, such golden song
Should sing? What arm to lay me down to sleep?
What sweet surround my head to hold? So long
A Night I need–and warm–a bed to keep
Me safe, perhaps, if substance I may bring;
And heal–perhaps, or not–if love I sing.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: Held
Shall not be love that
Doth wherewith I now sustain?
And this, forever.
Sonnet II: At Rest
At last, the dawn, in perfect form, I see
So formed, a positive reality.
Its purple state, its perfect choir, unveil
To shine, inspiringly, its song on me.
With form, and measure never void, it brings
A subtle mastery of the world it sings.
Without abash, I hear it tell a tale
Of majesty, and many more such things
Which burn with glory’s power, as they shine
Upon this shadow dappled world of mine.
My dreams are splendour, as they dance–prevail
With measure, and with form, and perfect line!
And dance I shall, as light–as mirrors bright
Reflect–avails, ’til dark, ’til death, ’til night!
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 2: Diametric
This is the opposite number,
Perhaps even diametrically opposed; a polar opposite
But still consistent in form.
Sonnet I: Restless
So languish thee, with veiled eye, thou poet,
When thou knowest breaking is the dawn;
For when thou wakest then, thy quill is still;
Though sleep, though rest is done, thy dream is gone.
And languish thee, at dawn’s decry, thou poet
Though thy dream escapeth through the morn;
At rest, and restlessness, this day thou lay
With each forgotten dream of thine unborn.
Then languish thee, though bright the sky, thou poet
Uninspired, helpless at midday,
Though sun with beauty bathes–at best a jest,
Its rays inspire golden fields of hay.
Now languish poet, day is not yet done;
Yet soon ’tis afternoon–the sun… has won.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: Methods
Withall, I’ve discovered methods exist
Wherein I may always write my fill,
Yet frustration takes me still.
David Emeron: Sonnets 