10 february 2015
Sonnet 6
O, beauteous petals, wilt thou not bloom?
’T is but thy faith which to too-honeyed nectar steals,
And but those combs thou use’st to consume
Which leave but trickéd drones and searching-feels.
And though no prick of rose, nor winded-sigh,
No poet’s moon nor pleasantry with flow’rs;
Will spurn thy stake from plucking-out thine eyes
Or caulking spores from springs and pleasant show’rs:
Still; thy Eternal petals shall not fray,
Nor steal with sickled-fancy from the wold;
Which, like the sun, doth always warm the way
And lead me to you, my beautiful, my soul.
For on that living bed doth give thee life,
The breath of love that gagéd thee my wife.
Kyle Stephen
5 november 2024
Freedom From PainSatish Verma
4 november 2024
0411wiesiek
4 november 2024
Słucham jeszcze, jak ostatnieEva T.
4 november 2024
Pure As GoldSatish Verma
3 november 2024
Nie tak całkiem zielonyJaga
3 november 2024
0311wiesiek
3 november 2024
Listopad.Eva T.
3 november 2024
"Surrender"steve
3 november 2024
You Were Not Like MeSatish Verma
2 november 2024
światłojeśli tylko