Thursday, February 05, 2004
Sonnet To the Perennial Rule of Love
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Love like ardor, moods that grow This verse favors one I know Kiss n’er me but that may be Time may hae her at my knee Nay she stand against my toes Poem shall win her, if not prose. For love gifts from, no one knows To presume is to suppose That one might be cupid bent To refrain keeps one, one’s gent! After all t'is more to gain By the courtings, waitings, pain. Some may savor the disfavor. But the choice’s Lady’s ... plain! ! |
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