quinta-feira, 22 de setembro de 2016

Bold as Love

'I dare do all that may become a man;
Who dares do more is none', said fell Macbeth.
And I shall go not a jot further than
Thou dost allow me, upon pain of death.
Say the word and my forces I retreat:
To suffer was my fated lot from start.
But if I read thy looks they do entreat
To heal the wound where an arrow did smart.
'Tis such a conundrum I put thee in;
No easy way out is to be contrived.
Think'st not thou that to think of me is sin;
Think rather a truer love has arrived.
Let Jove convince thee if my words do not;
At least I know that with honour I've fought.

sábado, 17 de setembro de 2016

Raison et Déraison

Car l'amour éclate comme un prodige;
Car la grace de tes gestes est ravissante;
Car la beauté de ta face m'en oblige;
Car la folie est une force si puissante;
Car la vie même m'a tellement attrapé;
Car la chair ne peut que se faire entendre;
Car la vraie raison personnne ne la sait;
Car la seule règle d'or nous empêche de feindre.
Car la dernière chose à faire est fuir;
Car la félicité on cherche toujours;
Car la langue ne suffit pas pour traduire;
Car la rivière peut changer son cours.
Je crois, j'espère, je rêve, je prie, j'assure
Que je t'aime comme un fou est tout qu'est sûr.

quinta-feira, 15 de setembro de 2016

Upon Request

Those were the days when we did idly frolic!
When no long road would stand between us twain.
And thy fair bud I would eagerly seek;
A dark cloud of pleasure would 'gin to rain.
Will that ever be so again, I think?
Time, place and circumstance in agreement?
So thou with thy lips lead me to the brink
And I watch thy explosive fulfillment?
Let me not think on it, it must be now!
No impediment must be an excuse.
Love's thrice repured nectar shall stain thy brow;
And a joyful rest will our bodies fuse.
Oh, but I dream: thou sleep'st in a strange bed.
Maybe we have spent all that could be had.

quinta-feira, 8 de setembro de 2016

Anatomy

What hackneyed image should I now employ
To extol thy unsurpassable grace?
That of flower, angel or such a toy,
Never to do justice to thine own face?
No! None but thy living self is my subject;
And my poor pen must praise thy ev'ry part.
No offence in the matter thou'lt object;
If any, blame the muses, 'tis their art.
Those deep dark alluring eyes mine so crave
Are set within a frame beyond dissection;
And thy auburn crown rests ever so brave
On the daintiest neck since world's conception.
Thine are gorgeous arms and delicate hands;
And since mine touch'd thy fingers I won't sit.
Upon marble columns thy figure stands;
Vulcan with his skill would not forge thy feet.
But beyond all that, anyone can see:
Thy gracious smile is the best part of thee.

terça-feira, 6 de setembro de 2016

Fancy

I dreamt the most improbable of fancies:
Two yet unknown saints did argue their cases.
The respectful yet fiercest of adversaries
In human affairs contended their places.
Saint Everlast still boasted of his order;
While Quicksand would praise necessary change.
Quoth one, 'what is must be, there is no other'.
Th'other, 'stability to man is strange'.
'Plato aids me', cried one's exasperation;
'Truth holds above this illusory world'.
'All is becoming' was the protestation
Of him who Heraclitus would unfold.
Thus woke I recollecting my impressions;
Convinced I was that time mocks human passions.