Red: So blush my cheeks in shame at springtime of your perfumed thought;

Orange: And coin out a smile more round than oranges.

Yellow: Look how I pale like a girl new-pregnant in your absences,

Green: As I am green in love, and my love evergreen, as I and Love ought.

Blue: In the blue dye I turn, worn in heat and dust of your dear love –

Indigo: And darker blue turn when that you never may be won I think.

Pink: O mark me climb at the pink of my love like roses at pink,

Black: Fallen in that black hopeless chaos by you shove;

White: That I am sick with your love is white as open day,

Purple: Who hides nothing from the ‘people’ of all he entails.

Grey: And come by these colours come I discoloured, grey with my own tales;

Brown: But look again on your eyes brown, and forget curses I did say.

In your power and will, great lady, all my health lies,

And pluck each day’s fortune, as each with your looking goes, from your eyes.


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By Sydney Chesterfield on May 22, 2016 · Posted in Letters To Shindara by E.R. Chesterfield, Literary, Poetry

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