SONNET III

IN thine absence, ceaseless, and my craving

Unfathomable, for thine lissome form,

Visage, with verve, so full, so brimming,

O! Dearest, my spirit is spent, braving the storm

Stirred in thy sojourns. Anguished and haunted,

Oh! So lonesome, my amour, lulled in stupor,

Fain would shun, drab, the dusk of thine wonted

Truancy and in new red dawns, find humor.

Love, in my heart enshrined, doth tenderly chide

My passion. Why strive thou, for evanescent lust?

Love is not an ugly cloak, an aide, to hide

Thy lechery. Love isn't a candle, but its essence

Is quixotic; its madness, is like a forest-fire,

Which flames further, fanned by the wind of distance.