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
Tag Archives: Love
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 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:
Sonnet: Jena
Just wait ’til dost thou see her, as have I;
A luscious and so mischievous a thing;
Not hesitant her mind to speak, or tease;
Enjoying every twist that might it bring.
To know her is, as I, to know her wry
Tempestuousness, enervated so.
And take from thee delight, as doth she please;
But even then, so much doth she bestow.
Endow thee all the more, doth she thereby,
Regarding not thy happiness nor joy;
No good to give, that first did not appease;
In truth, wilt not thou notice, but enjoy.
Enigma wrapped in mystery is she,
Rewarding us this fortune, I, and thee.
- One more for Jena
Intro: Once More
My devoted friend
Though better late than never,
This, I promised you.
Sonnet IX: Eros Philia Agape
As perfect thee, thine image as thine art:
Sublime, as sculpture’s ideations see;
Though mere in thought do such ideals exist,
My hands believe perfection thus to be.
Do not I trust this truth my hands impart
When next they touch conviction wrought of fire:
This certitude of which mine eyes insist
When they confirm withal my hands acquire;
Wherefore our brothers, hath He given heart
That for the other, petuous, will burn;
For she, from whom our brothers’ ribs consist,
Do all of us, this undespoilt, yearn.
For one: with art, we praise His strength thereof;
The other: doth enlist with us His love.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
David Emeron: Sonnets 