I limp now in my sphere, like the moon evected…

I limp now in my sphere, like the moon evected,

Beholding this great sun, by everywho gaped –

Who with her sweet fire refines all heaven,

And moieties that favour from heaven to earth even.

I my golden influence miss, that was power,

Whereby got the sea with child, and gave eye pitch-night;

And now myself as heavy, and as night lose sight,

Under incubi lovers brook, her light all too nigh.

A stranger thing befalls me, when the world notes me

In love, than wights that loved erst, nor that yet will be!

****************************************

Undistinguish’d in my storms as the sea taken at the neap,

I know myself scant, transmuted to tenors muted,

Sleep small when sleep be not of her, of her sleep dead –

That they by, fearing me dead, come full near to weep;

Waked, nothing see I, unless that she be in view,

Talking talk a seething pottage of incoherence,

To bane ears a havoc, till she be hallooed thence

To draw out threads of rags, and recover them new!

In a creel, I am carp’d a most crippled thing,

Pickled in spleen, since some crafty mermaid’s angling!

****************************************

Love that spares nor Adams nor Eves, brutes, elks, goslings –

‘Neath command of his shaft keeps titans underlings!




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By Sydney Chesterfield on June 12, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry, Trends

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