Tag Archives: Beauty

Sonnet IX: (decasyllabic line rebalanced)

Posted by David Emeron on

If I swore never to describe my heart;
How it yearns so desperately for you;
How it quickens at every sight of you,
Every instant when I first hear your voice;

Withheld how it races when you come near;
That it skips whenever you have touched me;
Pounds with the expectation of your touch;
Beats hard enough, you see my body shake;

Kept secret its quiet morning rhythm;
Long amazed our hearts beat in synchrony;
Wondering how long they would not diverge;
Locked away my pen, and ink, and paper.

If I swore never to describe my heart,
Unheard, would it stop beating forever?

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet VI: Ten Thousand Treasures

Posted by David Emeron on

Ere winter’s sweetest place distils to night,
Posterity could speak ten thousand times,
Make not forbidden, those that willing fight;
Deface thy ragged killer for its crimes!

Should one refigure life, if not some loan,
Too much the sum in use: art thou contrite?
Depart with usury and pay to own,
And let thy summer’s beauty be thy right.

Another treasure then if make thine heir,
Not e’er time’s hand made e’er thy leaving known;
And treasure done thyself, or bred, were fair,
All happier of thee than thee outshone.

What vial of Death bewitching dreams prepare?
Self-conquest warms thee, vile Death to dare!

This sonnet is part of a short, or
possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet V: (William Shakespeare)

Posted by David Emeron on

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:

For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there;
Sap check’d with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o’ersnow’d and bareness every where:

Then, were not summer’s distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was:

But flowers distill’d though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

Sonnet IV:

Posted by David Emeron on

Wilt spend thou Nature’s battle unaware
And lend thy loveliness when thou agree
To legacy–or Heaven as thou dare?
This battle, free to lose;  for the degree

That this abuse could bounteous appear;
To use this matchless contest; wouldst thou care
To give thy future someone to revere?
To live, what legacy wouldst thou prepare?

Thyself, as though alone reflected are;
No epigone–when fall thyself so near–
To traffic nature’s call?  Deceive and scar
This battlement to leave to thy frontier!

In this way, bring thee over from afar,
And what might be thine image, to a star.

This sonnet is part of a short, or
possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet III:

Posted by David Emeron on

That glass, one face doth from another, shield,
When mirrored, grace thy fair and barren bloom.
To form another, thou wouldst not be healed;
So blest, wouldst thou thy mother’s youth resume?

No fairer she, shouldst thou thy youth regain;
Nor he, by his posterity revealed.
Thou must not still thy husbandry disdain;
But fury-chafe, an till thy blighted field.

Doth Winter’s harvest care to April’s thresh;
Or dare to rite the golden Spring again?
Cares now Thy Prime for Legacy as Flesh;
When thou art loved and fond in love remain?

So choose: Thy tomb, in single fray enmesh;
Or Heaven’s womb, thine image pray make fresh.

This sonnet is part of a short, or
possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet II:

Posted by David Emeron on

But shall thy youth’s proud beauty not yet wane,
Though fifty winters shall thy brow besiege;
Each furrow earned, a worthy harvest; gaining
Greater beauty each, for youth’s unease.

Thy treasure lieth deep in Wisdom’s care;
For all shall see, as bright as doth remain
Fair beauty’s lustful youth: Beyond compare,
Shall count thy beauty’s truth; and fond sustain

Those many or those few who might impute
Thee wisdom, beauty’s blood to thee compare;
Let thy succession, warm or aught, repute
Thee not, the better to be taught; for where

May please thy children wisdom to dilute;
Yet these, thy words, made wisdom beauty’s fruit.

This sonnet is part of a short, or
possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet II: What I See

Posted by David Emeron on

Could, fine as you, another woman be,
Who surely has no equal on the Earth?
Could there have been some perfect virgin birth
Which consecrates impossibility?

Could there exist a worthy bond, as we
Have formed, through such a perfect sanctity?
Could one unearth a work of art, so free
Of flaw as you? The Angels would decree:

God made the Earth; one miracle was done,
And then within His realm did he make two.
No wonder of the world could have begun
Until the Great Almighty God, who knew
His Miracle, complete with only one,
Created me, and gave this gift to you.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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