You, the Object of my Art
You, the object of my art,
Laugh at praise from out my heart;
Call me crazy, a fool obsessed
When I tell you how, with you, I'm blessed.
My love, herself, thus does disprize
The beauty I hold in my eyes;
The aching wonder that I feel
Is painted common, called unreal.
By artless grace, you tantalize,
To so disgrace that which I prize;
You augment as you mesmerize
The beauty that your lips deny.
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