Tag Archives: Literature

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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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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Sonnet I: When He Fell

Posted by David Emeron on

Might he have fallen when he saw her face,
If so enchanting was her smile–too young
Must she have been–and tyrian among
Oviedo’s great; or when she danced, so graceful

Were her palmas and her whirling lace,
She gave him tantalizing baile–flung
Careening adoration; when she sung,
As Andalusian cantos did embrace

Regarding not her reach; or did the sound,
Laughing delicate from out a learner’s
Able hand–nimble, did her fingers bound,
Tripping lightly over octaves–earn her

Triumph; with–crossing leagues of royal blue–
Iokean lips, though never history knew?

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

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Sonnet IX: My Sweet Savant

Posted by David Emeron on

But rest thy racing mind, my sweet savant,
And know thine intellect may bring thee through
Thy fear and doubt, as any other want.
I would thou should but give this truth its due

Though oft wouldst thou believe this help untrue,
My dearest, my most charming, doubtful boy;
So long the list of thy solutions, drew
My mind, as easy thou wouldst reach for joy

And find it waits for thee. No other ploy
Couldst thou detect in me; for, as I were
Thy future, thou wouldst not my past destroy.
Take this I would thee know, and let it stir
Thy mind until occureth free of daunt;
And, if thou wouldst prefer: thy quickness flaunt!

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

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Sonnet VIII: Borrowed Foresight

Posted by David Emeron on

And thou when in that selfsame mirror see.
Wouldst thou when there beholdest mee be pleased?
Thy fear of future or of past; would be
Thy curiosity of all appeased?

And wouldst thou see a life thou hoped to live?
Wouldst thou with eager pride regard thou mee?
And wouldst thou mine and thy mistakes forgive?
Wouldst thou behind me happiness foresee?

And if thou knew as intimate, my life,
Wouldst thou for greater happiness contrive?
And shouldst thou know how great had been my strife,
Wouldst thou with passion greater, passion strive?

Wouldst in this knowledge thou thy fortunes thrive?
Wouldst thou with borrowed foresight come alive?

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

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Sonnet VII: Reflected

Posted by David Emeron on

When I, within the mirror, thee regard;
But not of thine, which shone in silvered glass;
Nay, this, that all the many years discard;
As though no year might ever for thee pass.

So fair, thy sherry coloured hair and eyes;
Thy perfect form I see, as straight and hard;
Thy smile, seeming beautiful and wise;
And strong thy limbs, by time are nary scared.

If thou couldst know what wonders thee await;
More wondrous than most any thou surmise;
If thou couldst only see thy pain abate;
And know how much of life this pain denies.

How few thy years; alas, how little wait;
My life surpast, when thou such things instate.

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

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