Tag Archives: Happiness

Sonnet VII: Respite

Posted by David Emeron on

In peace, my love, forever do I goe,
That blessed nectar I adored to seek,
That gave thee rest and ease in its mystique
That long ago hath poured and I bestow.

Take thou, my love,  these tears that overflow
To quench thy soul; restored, do they forespeak
To thee; I shed them gladly, take my cheek
To drink–so blush, as though with wine aglow.

But soft, my sweet, and drink thou ever deep;
Breathe now the vapours of my soul–and heart:
Read thou its sonnets, and thou wilt mee know.
But peaceful, shall I lay thee down to sleep,
Bequeathing thee, when we awake, such art
And dance that from thy hearth shall never goe.

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

Intro 7: Rest

Posted by David Emeron on

In peace, I do go
That blessed nectar to seek
May it give you ease

My love, take these tears
To quench the thirst of your soul
I shed them in joy

But soft, and drink now
Breathe the vapours and know me
Read my heart’s message

In peace I sleep now
With joy I will awaken
I dance now at home

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Intro: Through Eternity I Hear

Posted by David Emeron on

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly

As I could not when I was a young girl;
When weather stations, and ice-lollies,
Hot summer side-walks, forts and spaceships
Consumed our imaginations.

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly

Having listened always to its faint echo
When on the road or on the stage,
The needs of the family, tears and solitude,
Consumed my imagination.

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly

Since you brought me home to you
To lay down my tired heart and rest
In this household made out of friends of our youth
Which now consumes my imagination.

Through eternity I hear your call now
Clearly.

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Sonnet II: Long Foretold

Posted by David Emeron on

But once, I watched thee once, from far away,
In hopes, imagined once, to earn thy rest,
While daring not to dare this sweet display
Were all for mee–that dare I be so blest–
That bid thou might, and bid me soon, this day,
Thy song, to comfort bid, thou once professed.

To hour, and blesséd hour, to lay in sleep,
But soft, in soft congeniality;
To fade, this dolour fadeth by the hour;
And touch, so light thy touch, upon mee keep.
So round, thy lighted circle, ’round us be
Reborn, so safe reborn, within thy bower.

And would I hold thee safe, and would thee well;
As children, long ago, would long foretell.

  • I answer she,
    who hath for me
    this place forever kept.

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

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Intro 2: My Dearest Love doth Answer Mee

Posted by David Emeron on

To you I seem to sleep
But to me I am but resting as I await your slightest desire
That I might do you ease.
That you might call my name and bid me sing to you
To wile the long hours
In soft congeniality
And await the passing of all pain and dolour.
That we
Touching fingertip to fingertip
Might light a magic circle around us
And snug within it’s safe enclosure
Will finally sleep secure from all fear
Just as we did as children.

Sonnet I: Waiting Is

Posted by David Emeron on

And I…  have lost all life, all breath, all heart,
All sound, all sight; all sense hath left me blind.
For all I run to thee while sleep, apart…
I dare not hope but glimpse thee so confined;
But crystaled tears, this vision, showeth art;
And only then should know thy tears as mine.

I know thy lidded eyes press forth my tears;
And beg thee ope’ these jewels; see me there
Entreat thee, from this blindness, end my fears;
Wake thee, and wake thou me, from out this sleep,
This phantasm, this darkness, this nightmare;
And dare I thee to wake, wherefore I weep.

For thou, thy faith, thy dream, as pure whereby–
Waiting…  hoping… ever for mee… as I….

  • To my love;
    who hath for me
    ever waited.

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

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Sonnet II: His Passion

Posted by David Emeron on

I hear it in his song, as I perform;
With expectation, I anticipate
What challenge wrought that worthy hands conflate.
What fingers, nimble, delicate, and warm,

What mastery was he seeking to transform?
I hear him call, with each I recreate,
And call again with Phrygian passion.  Great,
I hear him call, as doth a raging storm.

I hear it in the sadness and the joy,
As in capriciousness, or wayward games;
I hear it gravely serious, then coy;
In every moment, hear how it proclaims.

The instant when the Andaluz appears,
I hear it, sweet as sin, across the years.

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

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