Thou hath darkest eyes taken from the night,
They drink me like moonless blue of July.
I fancy thee nigh, though it doth me fright:
‘tween the waves of nectarous coil I ply.
Thou art a tome, a dateless valentine––
Thou wilt and still be my hallowed prayer.
Prithee, wherefore hast thou to e’er shine?
As if thou know’st not thy luring charm rare.
But I would ne’ermore be so naive,
Lest to lose thee over such name unwise.
Thousands of worry wakeful nights unweave—
Foolish wit maketh a woe heart of demise.
So long as wheels spin and larks feathery,
I shalt e’er to grave my love from thee.
Photo Credits: Jesse Orrico (jesseorrico.com)
