Like a child beaten, shut up by his mother from crying,

Once the beater goes from sight, burst forth in weeping,

Till he has had in the outburst of his grief some comforting,

And returns to the fashion of his complexion, and to playing;

So I suddenly break open the bounds of my imprisoned glee,

And burn brighter than myrtles my publication the hamlet over

Of the happenstance of your eyes falling so recklessly upon me,

And soon your heart for me after, till you’ve confessed you’ll die my lover;

Once from my pining company you are gone,

Leaving behind with me delicious breaths of young love-vows,

Like sweet scents of rain, when rain from the once-distraught earth does arouse –

And compose your awe again with my scorn, still pleasant I, when you return.

But I keep an eye open (like the Sky) day and night, in doubt you are mine;

And fear the trick my joys outfill the world’s, though they with the seas combine!


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By Sydney Chesterfield on June 6, 2016 · Posted in Letters To Shindara by E.R. Chesterfield, Literary, Poetry, Trends

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