Sonnet Iv
O, my beloved, your dear voice I hear;
no earthly voice can sooth my tremb'ling soul
nor calm, as yours does, angry waves that roll
about my little bark. The dragon rears;
his breath, like flaming billows, seeks to sear
my heart until my hope in blackened coals
lies devoured among the briny shoals.
Then, just in time, you do appear,
and at your word, all doubt is driv'n away;
I hear the melody your voice does make.
The fiery dragon has naught else to say,
my love, not at his terrors need I shake.
My soul, it knows your master touch; at bay
he lies, the vanquished foe your voice did break.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987
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