Sonnet
My love, it looked with sight too short, too whole
And gave too meagrely in its return;
Made expectancy wear the robes of soul
Whilst unguarded Truth mutely made Her concern.
In shallow pools, on hillock sides, or air
Too thin for lungs forshortened under strain,
My love too common was, or else too rare
To withhold bursting dams, to withstand pain.
I cased my love in amber fair and full
To compensate its worth which else it lacked.
I 'based my love, repelled by its base pull,
Yearning more the temperance than the tract.
You took my love and held it to the sun,
Where blind, unbound, it bent back to the moon.
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