Even as on some black background full of night

And hollow storm in cloudy disarray,

The forceful brush of some great master may

More brilliantly, evoke a higher light;

So beautiful, so delicately white,

So like a very metaphor of May,

Your loveliness on my life’s somber grey

In its perfection stands out doubly bright.


And yet your beauty breeds a strange despair,

And pang of yearning in the helpless heart;

To shield you from time’s fraying wear and tear,

That from yourself yourself would wrench apart,

How save you, fairest, but to set you where

Mortality kills death in deathless art?