Sonnet 2: Her Beauty Is As Lines Laid On My Soul
Her beauty is as lines laid on my soul
As found revealed beyond the reach of time;
So subtle, fate's perfection draws me whole
As powerless I cling to her design.
Whatever whim she wishes plans my quest,
Whatever deed she deigns fuels my desire,
Tormented in my sleep; I may not rest,
While love consumes my dreams in temper's fire.
Razed to my knees I raise my head and gasp,
That yearning should present and like withhold
So fine and fleeting form slipped from my grasp;
Now held in mind what was once held in world.
Her beauty is as lines laid on my soul,
To bid my poem should pen no coarser goal.