Count Comfect
04-24-2004, 12:27 AM
I.
A muse I wish, that would the world o'ertop
As did that of the learned Greeks before.
Or as the Romans, in their fertile crop
Of authors, and they had a brilliant store.
A muse inspires, as from God above
And leads the way to show emotion true.
As anger, hate, or better yet, as love,
And other thoughts that man shall never rue.
My muse should have of burnished copper, hair;
and be as great as Aphrodite was.
Her eyes would sparkle in the sunlit air,
And when I met her glance, my soul would buzz
But such a muse I have, and she does walk!
So great this is, 'tis effort e'en to talk.
II.
Am I a fool? Or am I just in love?
Or is it both, and intertwin'd they are?
I know my acts are foolish, from above
They must seem most amusing, and by far
I much prefer to think I am in love
Indeed, I am, and that is the main cause
Of all these changes, and the strangest of
Them all is my clear foolishness. I'll pause
And quote the Bard, a greater one than me
And see what he on loves follies hath writ.
"But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The petty follies that themselves commit."
But he is wrong! My love hath sight! I view
How foolish I must truly seem to you.
III.
"Husband and wife shall become as one flesh."
Can this bond exist without a marriage?
Can we consider that two souls can mesh?
If so, can it been seen from their carriage?
Is touching cheek to cheek a sign of it?
Holding hands? Entwin'd, one with the other?
Meetings of glances, or meetings of wit?
Staring? Whispering to one another?
When head on shoulder they touch each to each
And hug, and kiss, and share their private thoughts,
And pine when she, or he, is not in reach,
Are they not one, to brave life's dang'rous shots?
I cannot say, and yet I know full well
I've such a one, and will until death's knell.
IV.
Is she the one, all others to abstain?
Is my heart linked with hers forever now?
Can there be doubt! I say it once again:
That I am hers, and she is mine, I trow.
As does the wolf with his so wolfish mate,
Or laughing cuckoo in his loving nest.
I sit beside my love and I feel great
And am willing to banish all the rest.
Others say I am too optimistic
Or that I know not life's zoology.
But, say I, her smile is all my physic,
And for her I would walk across the sea.
Love might be blind, but feeling is her sight.
Emotion, then, will soon make the dark light.
This is 4 sonnets of a bunch I've written, and I've been asking pretty much everyone I know for comments on them. So I thought "gee, there's this big Writer's Workshop thing, why don't I post them there so more people could see them?" So here they are.
A muse I wish, that would the world o'ertop
As did that of the learned Greeks before.
Or as the Romans, in their fertile crop
Of authors, and they had a brilliant store.
A muse inspires, as from God above
And leads the way to show emotion true.
As anger, hate, or better yet, as love,
And other thoughts that man shall never rue.
My muse should have of burnished copper, hair;
and be as great as Aphrodite was.
Her eyes would sparkle in the sunlit air,
And when I met her glance, my soul would buzz
But such a muse I have, and she does walk!
So great this is, 'tis effort e'en to talk.
II.
Am I a fool? Or am I just in love?
Or is it both, and intertwin'd they are?
I know my acts are foolish, from above
They must seem most amusing, and by far
I much prefer to think I am in love
Indeed, I am, and that is the main cause
Of all these changes, and the strangest of
Them all is my clear foolishness. I'll pause
And quote the Bard, a greater one than me
And see what he on loves follies hath writ.
"But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The petty follies that themselves commit."
But he is wrong! My love hath sight! I view
How foolish I must truly seem to you.
III.
"Husband and wife shall become as one flesh."
Can this bond exist without a marriage?
Can we consider that two souls can mesh?
If so, can it been seen from their carriage?
Is touching cheek to cheek a sign of it?
Holding hands? Entwin'd, one with the other?
Meetings of glances, or meetings of wit?
Staring? Whispering to one another?
When head on shoulder they touch each to each
And hug, and kiss, and share their private thoughts,
And pine when she, or he, is not in reach,
Are they not one, to brave life's dang'rous shots?
I cannot say, and yet I know full well
I've such a one, and will until death's knell.
IV.
Is she the one, all others to abstain?
Is my heart linked with hers forever now?
Can there be doubt! I say it once again:
That I am hers, and she is mine, I trow.
As does the wolf with his so wolfish mate,
Or laughing cuckoo in his loving nest.
I sit beside my love and I feel great
And am willing to banish all the rest.
Others say I am too optimistic
Or that I know not life's zoology.
But, say I, her smile is all my physic,
And for her I would walk across the sea.
Love might be blind, but feeling is her sight.
Emotion, then, will soon make the dark light.
This is 4 sonnets of a bunch I've written, and I've been asking pretty much everyone I know for comments on them. So I thought "gee, there's this big Writer's Workshop thing, why don't I post them there so more people could see them?" So here they are.