Love Letter
Hark, I pray thee, art thou related to the sun?
For having glimpsed thee, deprived of dreams, I have,
Thy charms, wane off my pride, hast done,
And I, willingly, will follow the path you carve.
Why dost thou grief? A vessel of beauty are you,
You, whose beauty, heavens queen doth covet,
I would line all maidens, to take your cue,
But covetous Hera would thus prevent.
Daughter of nature, fairest of them all,
Come let us bask in the euphoria of this moment,
Your sun soon will set, heed my distress call,
And save me from lapsing into a loveless torment.
My beautiful, my heart, my life, my all,
Hold me dear, less loosely, lest I fall.
|