Font Color='#880000'The Dilemma/Font
The orbits of the spheres have wound to see
These rolling tides, where Spring has swelled the moon,
And skies, though closed themselves, still sing to me;
Have I but heard their song some years too soon?
That night may gentler blow where breath leaves thee,
Resounding through my dreams in mute despair -
These raucous paeans of love will never once more bare.
What binds us here as one beneath the sky?
That seemly night betroths to fill all breath;
So strong a life that deeming love could die,
Should find a way to dream before its death.
And though we were as one not meant to be,
The notes are laid, in streaming muse to thee,
And dead unless the shame I bare each day frees me.
What firmament is this within thy core?
That holds contained inside its moving seat
Of all I have beheld of worth before,
Of all thou hast not felt of love's new sweet.
'Tis set within thy form, a kind control,
That comes though born of life less half my whole,
From mine through thine, thy flesh wields still in all, my Soul.