May summer's breath be not fleeting in term,
For surely my angel's heart will dismay.
Pray not let notions like seasons confirm,
Such sorrowful wrong as the natural way.
I beg of you stop not the music thus,
Her feet never silent agony bears.
I plead that the rhythm knows not love's fuss,
Made by her dancing; how beauty just fares.
I hope now these words don't ever lose flair,
For my heart they take to her on swift wings.
Guide firmly these hands heavenly muse fair,
Grant me that glory which naught but love brings.
Such are the wishes of one in love's keep,
May they come true lest passion now must weep.
No comments:
Post a Comment