Drought

My heart thou art sweeter than the waters
That glisten along the world’s golden shores,
O fairest of this world’s mortal daughters
With whose presence my lyric passion soars.
Alike thou art to those waters that surge
And over-flood the rich receiving earth
Who shall shortly there after re-emerge
When she recedes: drained, dry, and deep in dearth!
Or like any mystic intoxicant
That washes fast away all sense of self
And with that fleeting bliss addiction plant
To desire release from the woe of self.
O love, love, love this is a rich abuse
To be so far from thee who art my muse.

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This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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