Shaken in a real sense by L.E.L. ie Letitia Elizabeth Landon/Mrs. Mclean's fate:  immensely popular



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIV)


I'd boyfriends, even kissed until that sense
Of ecstasy was buried sans avail
With gradeschool's innocence, but never'd scale
The actual height of love 'til Nigel thence
Took me in hand to teach my soul from whence
It sprung, though all in vain; where TyKlee'd hail
Me at my mother's tomb to steal in frail
Excuse my shattered heart betrayed fr'intents.
And now that Les taught me French kissing fer
Sheer moments of keen passion, none yet "knew"
Lo, me:  I'm still a ******.  Thieves in tour
Stole off, what? bits and pieces.  Naught e'er woo
But they are false, yea, scoundrels.  Love is poor.
I, as a violet, fade with silver dew.

11Mar19d

Keats swooned over a world that never was, except in dreams, and I've no use for that.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLXIII)


In lieu of aught we know:  blue skies t'avail
Sans blot of clouds 'til puddles mirror thence
Heavn's eye...take up the chalice to drink hence
That fragrant draught which yields as if to scale
More heady visions than we've drunk, t'exhale
Like sailors on the faerie seas, pretense
Our dainty meat; as lovers swoon for sense
Oer plighted troth, not as we know; sans bail.
Go into raptures likeas Keats would stir
And Byron knew to write, as Shelley drew
Up in his Ode, faint cuz ye know in tour
What minstrels sang in ballads, weaving to
Effect those silken strands to snare souls fer
The Devil's heights.  Cuz what we have won't do.

11Mar19c