A Sonnet of Desire
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
No, that’s been writ already by The Bard;
I sought to scribe thy beauty in some way,
Yet finding choice words even now proves hard.
I view a regal portrait of a Queen:
It shows a cool and formal countenance.
I seek the woman’s heart that is not seen,
The giddy sweetness not grasped at first glance.
Passing glimpses have I had of this
Through sly, enticing words that prick and tease;
Her Grace has even deigned my lips to kiss,
A fleeting pleasure, gone like morning’s breeze.
For consummation this poor subject yearns,
Sensing Passion ‘neath her portrait burns.
