Sonnet # 257
Do spend a night with me upon my bed.
If I turn out to be I please you quite,
One night into an endless more you spread,
And I make promise you`ll me e`er excite.
But if I fail, my touch on you a rock,
And you don`t feel a paradise-delight,
Forget me quite; in hell my name up lock,
And think I am the worst for your eyesight.
But give the man who asks for a fair chance
His chance so he can say his chance he had.
Then if he fails, it was his circumtance
And not you being cruel, or though, or bad.
Don`t wait another day; my chance me give,
And let me see if I come positive.
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Comments about this poem (Sonnet # 257 by Luis Estable )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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