Tag Archives: Romantic

Sonnet I: Thine Alone

Posted by David Emeron on

My beauty-rain, O let me feel thy cooling
Warmth again–thine effervescent touch;
To sink within thy sweetest nature, pooling;
Feel thy sweetest yield surround me such:

First hint of tender touch and faerie fire
So doth mee now thy promised passion lend,
And fill mee with my single heart’s desire:
To dance the love thine elements portend.

For thee, my passion climbeth as none other,
Yearning songs, yet melancholy, slow;
When thou art near, my gentle, warming love,
Thou bringest lasting peace though must thou goe.

Could any foolish mortal claim the right
To boast thou dost caress, unknowingly, thy man tonight?

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

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Sonnet I: Evil Will Die

Posted by David Emeron on

Shall any reach the stars when no man may?
And who shall lift ye when the rest are gone?
Believe ye he’ll continue, at your sway,
To trust it’s ye from whom his strength is drawn?

What lie is this? What price is added on
To that, with blissful ignorance, his gifts
Have paid? Dare shriek that hand should carry on,
Betrayed, when ye have cursed it while it lifts

Ye from your caves. The mind who guides it drifts
In lofty space. And when it dreams, it keeps
Ye from your graves. The laws of God it sifts,
With all His grace, yea, even as it sleeps.

Yet now, lies still, until your evil dies–
 At rest, until ’tis safe to touch the skies!

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

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Into 1: To Atlas And…

Posted by David Emeron on

To All The Weary:
He who waits. He who does not.
He who lifts the Earth.

Holds himself aloft.
Who reaches to the Heavens.
Godspeed either way.

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Sonnet II: What Is Kept

Posted by David Emeron on

Take care young girl in what thou keepest real,
For what thou real profess, wilt thou become;
And be thy carriage drawn to thine ideal,
Wherefore should–pure for thee–white horses come?

This trap  thou,  from  thy cold demesnes, create;
So frozen deep canst thou escape therefrom;
May not thy carriage, soul with ice conflate;
Through frost, could–lost to thee–white horses come?

How good or sweet, when meanness harsh thy word,
Bereave thine heart, and lovely spirit numb?
For passed thy carriage, thine entreat unheard;
And would–nor should to thee–white horses come.

Thy carriage, see to rancour’s cost, succumb.
And ne’er–not ere for thee–white horses come.

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

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Intro 2: Reality May Bite

Posted by David Emeron on

What is real to thee
So real does it ever seem,
May be a phantom.

Take care this realness
Is not a dagger with which
To slay thine own soul

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Sonnet I: What Is Lost

Posted by David Emeron on

Readeth not these lines; they are not, young girl,
For thee. They are, to souls like thine, forbidden,
Though they may betray what hast thou hidden
In thine heart, these words should not unfurl

Thy feelings. Thou hast cast thy lot to hurl
Them, stealing–strong or even weak, amid
The squealing swine to be forever hid–
From thine own soul, unknowing, every pearl.

Readeth, thou must not, these lines; they do not
Describe what hast thou chosen. Even now,
Thine heart is frozen. Thou hast cast thy lot
Not winning life, but dreary death; for thou

Hast chosen strife, bereft of song and verse;
And all thy long tomorrows are a curse.

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

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