Sonnet VII (poem)


what bitter glitter do these eyes exude

that glisten in the light as dewdrops would;

what lonely sigh escapes these pouting lips

that once did know the bliss of tender kiss;

these arms that ache to hold you but once more

are lifeless driftwood washed upon the shore;

and oh! — to feel your head upon my breast,

more barren than deserted eagle’s nest,

would bring to me more joy than ever was;

and should you but ensnare these eyes of glass

with but the meanest glance — I would not seek

to cast existence to eroding peak.

could I but from this bleary life depart,

as parting token you would have my heart.