Poetry

O Mistress mine, that  total gift of self,
Thy sweetly swelling heart's desideratum
Is naught but Nature's tribute to Herself -
A favor less bestowed than owed verbatim.
When men of low repute presume to render
Abject obeisance where and how they please
Stanchions eternal fall asunder -
And bothersome annoyance frets Thine ease.
Kingdoms pass away, but not my function:
Dethroning imps who cause Felicia strife;
And someday, taking Host and Holy Unction,
I'll praise Felicia more than natural life.
But Mistress, salve my heart's sore controversy
And promise hapless slave You'll practice mercy.