Tag Archives: Shakespearean

Sonnet IV: What Remains

Posted by David Emeron on

Although to thee thou wouldst that life is lost;
Declaim the shame of all that it contains;
My love doth live in this thou wouldst accost;
Yet see how free her innocence remains.

I would that shouldst thou know thine eyes may trust,
That she as thee such trial here sustains;
Though long hath life to her so dealt unjust;
Yet still she will her innocence remains.

I pity thee if still thou canst not see,
The difference from thy sameness she attains;
Though lost, thy life the same, my love is free;
Through this abyss, her innocence remains.

So deep the sweetness still thy soul contains,
I pray this day thine innocence remains.

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

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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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Sonnet I: No More

Posted by David Emeron on

No touch, no sleep, no rest, no love like mine
For thee, shall ere console me in my place
Of rest.  No more shall any weight of thine
My breast console.  No more, thy fairest face,

Within my whole creation be contained.
No more shall I awaken, feel my heart
And thine, and should not feel that there be twain.
Not rhythm, nor our beings, be made to part.

No more shall flesh be moved nor move mine own
By neither wish, nor thought, nor even touch,
To such a fervent height as we have known–
As only I and thou have felt this much.

Must I, in perpetuity, endure
No more, no more, no more, no more… no more….

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

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Sonnet III: Absence

Posted by David Emeron on

Remember thou, my sweetest love, that grape
Made manifest alloweth many forms:
A quick but fleeting ichorous escape;
A spirit with incalescence that warms.

The grape may yield up poison that would kill,
A draught that might embolden ones appeal,
A sedative to blight one of his skill,
Or potion, pray, infirmity, may heal.

Remember thou how fickle is the grape
So oft’ endowed, its yield, so commonplace;
But rarely, fine enough a thing to shape
Ones soul, aligned, unto a state of grace.

So may this sweet elixir slake thy soul;
And pray, my sweetest love, it make thee whole.

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

Sonnet II: To Ease thy Longing

Posted by David Emeron on

The way of this elixir is its balm,
So gentle; that, with artistry, would’ see
My mind and heart, my very soul, becalm;
As well it would, my sweetest love, for thee.

So gently should it wash away thy pain,
This gift of purest flavour doth recall,
As though it, soothing as a favoured rain,
Shan’t make distraught thy soul, that it may fall.

Forget thou not, my love, this cruel Earth
Gave art to elements wherewith may heal
Thine heart; which beat with sadness, yet with worth
And daunt, as doth an angel’s heart reveal.

Though haunted, all the lonely, even we,
May wash away our longing a degree.

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

Sonnet: To a Friend

Posted by David Emeron on

Surrounding all the visible of life
Are reds and violets of all creation.
Hidden there beyond all earthly sight,
These outer hues defy our expectation.

Wish I, friend, to show how this empowers;
And to give you all that can be seen.
But still I know, for you, there are those flowers
You would fear to touch and may demean.

I’d wish for you to see the beauty there
As well as all the beauty that you know
And know I do your love is true, your care
Is real although the places you will go

Are only fully present in the known
N’er knowing all the hues to which I’ve grown.

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Sonnet: The Hand of my Beloved

Posted by David Emeron on

Thy hand hath stopped my fall and lifted me
To quell my tears, and cool my fervid cheeks;
Withal thy power hast thou known its plea:
To grant my heart this respite that it seeks.

Tomorrow, shall I write for thee, although
The Gods are neither fooled nor do they sleep,
But smile upon thee; surely do They know
I sing with joy their deeds an ne’er I weep.

But sweetly given me hast thou my voice,
And moved my spirit; for my hand is thine
To take thy gifted rest; though fear my choice:
That rest will fall to apathy’s decline.

Yet might for me despair make worse my plight;
Tomorrow, with thy gifts, for thee I write.

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