Left was I, in your haste, a conciliatory bequeath:
Meted a constancy of your visage, its beauty-
Hold fast to my belief in our love, my duty:
Employed, as my broken heart's sheath!
Naught shall I waiver or wane in said belief,
Nor surely could it's like pass my way again:
Thought of your absence, my love's bane,
Mask not may I, my heart's grief!
The sole abatement of such as this
May only present in my love's arrival:
The only surety of my soul's survival-
Tis thee, my dear-the cause of my bliss!
Until you again are with me, I hold one thought near:
That is, your profound want of being here!
Maurice Harris,20 October 2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem