Why is thou, my Muse, bereft of care,
For all that my Heart doth hold in esteem?
To take a risk, perchance, to dare,
I divulged the diamond of my dream,
Of kin hearts united by love's native genius,
That knows not church or nation,
To labour for her treasure is a task grievous;
For she is meant to give with no ration.
Yet thou dost insist on our being cleft,
A fuel to incessant infatuation,
I give my Heart till there's nothing left,
In hope of effecting persuasion.
But to thee no plea can e'er be made,
Thou dost dwell in the jaded cynic's abade.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 5:18 AM UTC
Why is thou, my Muse, bereft of care,
For all that my Heart doth hold in esteem?
To take a risk, perchance, to dare,
I divulged the diamond of my dream,
Of kin hearts united by love's native genius,
That knows not church or nation,
To labour for her treasure is a task grievous;
For she is meant to give with no ration.
Yet thou dost insist on our being cleft,
A fuel to incessant infatuation,
I give my Heart till there's nothing left,
In hope of effecting persuasion.
But to thee no plea can e'er be made,
Thou dost dwell in the jaded cynic's abade.
