Sonnet 1
In the sound of the dove's soft mournful cry,
The ever longed, ever strained, desir'd grasp
Of careful, love hewn boughs and angels most high,
A serene gentle walk soon came to pass,
Beneath starlit kiss and tender embrace
Not foul but fairest maiden of them all
Time hath lost its plodding monsterous face
To the gathered in white heavenly hall.
Humbled pretension amid silken touch
Faith! My manservant fickle Cupid's not,
Yet in the companion's desperate clutch,
Sweet quarrel holds that love's war is now fought.
If it is that romantic love be gone,
Then I, sacrifice, on pleasent Venus' lawn.
