Sonnets - Ad Innuptam
I
I MAKE not my division of the hours
By dials, clocks, or waking birds’ acclaim,
Nor measure seasons by the reigning flowers,
The spring’s green glories, or the autumn’s flame.
To me thy absence winter is, and night,
Thy presence spring, and the meridian day.
From thee I draw my darkness and my light,
Now swart eclipse, now more than heavenly ray.
Thy coming warmeth all my soul like fire,
And through my heartstrings melodies do run,
As poets fabled the Memnonian lyre
Hymned acclamation to the rising sun.
My heart hums music in thy influence set:
So winds put harps Aeolian on the fret.
II
The rude rebuffs of bay-besieging winds
But make the anchored ships towards them turn,
So thy unkindness unto me but finds
My love tow’rds thee with keener ardour burn;
As myrrh incised bleeds odoriferous gum,
I am become a poet through my wrong,
For through the sad-mouthed heart-wounds in me come
These earthly echoes of celestial song.
My thoughts as birds make flutter in my heart,
Poor muffled choristers! whose sad refrain
Gives sorrow sleep, and bids that woe depart
Whose heavy burden weighs upon my strain.
Imprisoned larks pipe sweeter than when free,
And I, enslaved, have learnt to sing for thee.
III
Thy throne is ringed by amorous cavaliers,
And all the air is heavy with the sound
Of tiptoe compliment, whilst anxious fears
Strike dumb the lesser satellites around.
One clasps thy hand, another squires thy chair,
Some bask in light shed from the eyes of thee,
Some taste the perfume shaken from thy hair,
Some watch afar their worshipped deity.
All have their orbits, and due distance keep,
As round the sun concentric planets move;
Smiles light yon lord, whilst I, at distance, weep
In the sad twilight of uncertain love.
’Thwart thee, my sun, how many a mincer slips,
Whose constant transits make for me eclipse.
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poem by Patrick Moloney
Added by Poetry Lover
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