Tag Archives: Longing

Sonnet XI: Her Peace

Posted by David Emeron on

So dreameth now my love again in sleep
And smileth angelic, she; though dream
Not angels, as His children may create;
As we alone were from His image made.

And deep, she doth within, such wonder keep;
Such visions, perfect in her care, doth seem.
My love so doth me gift, in perfect state,
This firmament some deity forbade;

Wherefrom I am forbidden still to leap
And soar and glide, so bright above, supreme,
So realised, hath she made, though inchoate,
Where she, these gardens of delight, hath played.

But still I weep, that safety, my esteem
May not create, when demons there invade.

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

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Intro 10: Will I See?

Posted by David Emeron on

Things I have not seen…
But wish that someday I shall…
In another life…

In another time…
Although my faith is lacking…
I want the next life…

So I may see you…
Dance for me, and play for me…
As never I’ve known….

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Sonnet IX: Thy Bounty

Posted by David Emeron on

Of mee, my love, hath she my bounty seen,
And hath she of this bounty seen but all;
Hath seen, as heard, and felt, my music play;
If that I love, or that were truly mine;

Hath watched me towering creations glean,
In theory penned, or realised, standing tall;
Hath known the speed at which, once under way,
Some skill, once undertaken, I refine;

Hath seen me write of love, or vent my spleen;
With verse or prose delight her or appal;
Hath she the whole of me, in full display;
Doth praise; with admiration, doth enshrine.

Between such adulation and enthral;
Pray, shall I tell, of that I know, of thine?

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

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Sonnet V: All About Me

Posted by David Emeron on

Again, doth stir in pretty slumber so,
But slight, her waking; dreameth then of he
Whose bearing and whose presence seemed unique.
And he, of small advantage, seemed as wise;

Yet hardly did aware, he seem, nor know;
Was more, that either view, than blind decree.
About him still, so more than just mystique;
Yet not conceit, as others she’d surmise.

And of his expertise, might nothing show;
Unless such confidence she chanced to see.
And might she little know of such technique,
Unless through conversation might surprise.

Though not precisely modest, I’d agree,
My love wouldst speak my greatness (most unwise!)

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

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