Whence cometh this fear that grips my heart in despair?
And why, with such a boon, should my soul need repair?
Ah! But this dæmon stalks at night and during the day,
And who will rescue me now and his malevolence repay?
Oh, that I might laugh once again in free joy and in peace!
God, givest thou thy servant bravery and in life new lease
That he might better serve thee in this time untarnished,
And walk with head held high in your truth unvarnished!
Lo, does this deadly pestilence stalk me ever so crudely,
And doth heavily weigh down mine heart quite so rudely
That these feet of mine hath most assuredly become lead,
And the cowardly trepidation of soul is mightily well fed;
But shall I await the doom that largely seemeth to loom?
Nay! Not while there is aplenty of room in empty tomb!
Twas mine own proclamation of emancipation
When I didst tell thee of passionate affection,
Which didst proceed from an opened heart
That cared not how thou might play thy part,
But for sake of my tender soul ye wert kind,
And in thine eyes some honest pity I didst find,
And thou didst not reprimand me nor demand
That I should take my leave to ever be banned
From seeing thee again in some fondly way,
And thus, though sadly, did I await that day;
Nay, thou even granted a kiss upon my cheek
But ye also implored me another love to seek;
Ah! I have found such, yet thou art mournful,
But o’er my fortune why now be so scornful?
Thou art withal quite an exceptionally quiet soul,
For life in this world hath of certain taken its toll,
Yet thou art possessed of such finely keen intellect,
Tho’ few know for so few friends dost thou collect
Around thee for sake of thy privacy and solitude,
But ne’er one man hath questioned thy rectitude,
Such is thy state of upright stature and integrity
That thou might be with very angels in solidarity;
Ah! but thou hast so much to give unto humanity
If thou wouldst but open thine heart to liberality;
Tis no shame in privacy save one’s lack of charity,
And in this alone one might suspect thy credibility,
Not for what thou hast done but for what is undone,
For tis not of nature for the sky to withhold the sun!
Thou hast stolen my heart, thou thief of love!
And do I rest upon thy bosom like the dove?
Soft and supple am I now in thine own hands,
Nor dost thou require to keep me with bands,
Save strands of thy passion and compassion;
Now thy love alone be for me sufficient ration,
And I do not forsake thee for fear of starvation,
For leaving thy side wouldst be deprivation;
And could I find another home I will not dare,
For the nature of thy love is indeed very rare;
So to thee do I bring myself and closely cling,
And beg thee to let our wedding bells ring,
For I have none other song but thee to sing,
And I have no gift but mine own self to bring
Thou knowest thy love is enfolded within my breast
That come the tempest of life I shall pass thy test,
And shall rest me in thine arms safe from all harms,
For thou art my all in all, best of all heavenly charms,
And thy grand love for me I know full well and sing
In great cathedrals for thou art love and love ye bring
To even me in fullest measure as an ethereal treasure,
And shall I despise what thou givest for my pleasure?
Nay! Nor shall I turn away from thine eyes of passion,
But shall forever behold thee in greatest compassion,
For thou didst endure scorn and bloody tree for me!
Seest thou my passion for thee and let us united be!
For at thine altar fine do I pay my vows of loyalty
To be but one with thee and thee with me in royalty!
Hast thou bequeathed thy love to another?
Perchance given thy heart to my brother?
And wouldst thou be so cruel as to leave me
Forsaken of all love as if dead to thee?
Oh, how high and haughty thou hast become
To be so naughty to leave me thus lonesome!
May the gods smile upon this wretched soul,
And Panacea apply her balm to fill this hole
Thou hast left in mine own heart torn apart!
Ah! The game of romance is such deadly art,
And I not an artist be, so thou must see
What great extent is thine own cruelty;
Yet shall ye turn away thine eye from me
For the sake of playing harlot so shamelessly?
Note: This is my own paltry attempt at Shakespearean sonnet, being 14 lines with 10 syllables per most lines… Try it at least once, right?