Her absence pours into my mind, despair;
my soul worn—dull like day set to expire.
My heart apart my love's absence does tear—
hence my paint-brush on canvas—make entire
my time's use to paint my love's looks to spare
me from love sickness; paint her looks to inspire
me to bear her absence long, which does wear
me down; paint her looks to make me a wire
live with vibrancy great for me to hare
in spirit to bliss, where life's height is higher.
I, like the oak firm in the storm, will dare
to defy or brave the obstacles dire,
portraying the blueness of her eyes fair
like the gilded globe's ceiling of sapphire;
deep in the eyes of that poised face—a lair,
where lives grace dearer than the sound of lyre.
But soft went my lips' words, ‘This seems a queer
vain chance, her presence my state does require,
for with her, love is azure's gold I'll share...
This... this yoke... I seek the zeal of a shire! '
Topic(s) of this poem: love and pain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.