I have penned my verse in its unworthy worth
With adoration unabated quite
Never knowing the repose of Beauty's berth
Nor darkness dimmed within such light.
But now my muse seeks its recompense
And the answer to its most profound delusion
That it may live beyond my sense
Once drawn from deep seclusion.
And yet, I find so quick my muse's apprehension
To speak of you and love as its argument,
In its revelation beyond all thoughts comprehension
Of you and Love's precariment.
Just how, then, to Love's deep unenlightened night,
Shall the madness of my new rhetoric dare invade,
Alit by the power of Rhyme's gentle might
So that to you, of my love, it can persuade?
