My Merit Poem by Phiwokuhle Mpendulo Manana

The destined maid; seine hidden hand
Unveils to me that loveliness
Which others cannot understand.


My merits in your presence grow,
To match the promise in your eyes,
And round your happy footsteps blow


The authentic airs of Paradise.
For joy of you,I cannot sleep;
Your beauty haunts me all the night;


It melts my heart, it makes me weep
For wonder, worship, and delight.
O, paradox of love, I longed,


Most humble when I am most aspires,
To suffer scorn and cruel wrongs
From you I honours and desires.
Your graces make me rich, and ask
No guerdon; this imperial style
Affronts me; I disdains to bask,


The pensioner of your priceless smile.
I pray for some hard thing to do,
Some work of fame and labour immense,
To stretch the languid bulk and thew
Of love's fresh-born magnipotence.
No smallest boon were bought too dear,
Though barter'd for my love-sick life;
Please trust me, with undaunted cheer,
To vanquish heaven, and call my spouse


I note how queens of sweetness still
Neglect their crowns, and stoop to mate;
How, self-consign'd with lavish will,
They ask but love proportionate;
How swift pursuit by small degrees,
Love's tactic, works like miracle;
How valour, clothed in courtesies,
Brings down the haughtiest citadel;
And therefore, though my merits
To kiss the braid upon your skirt,
My hope, discouraged ne'er a jot,
Out-soars all possible desert.