Lo, so vast her soul lies…

Lo, so vast her soul lies, you are sumless ages

Journeying for the centre, which no age find;

Nor she is of earth, that though she walk ‘mongst your kind,

Walk as ‘twere on waters, not dreading earth iwis,

But finding strange, how passing poor, mankind poorer;

Who like hornworm though beloving the brighter light,

Is minion of darkness, as by grain destructor;

That eat in every sweet grain, and moth each silk of right:

More strange wonders hath man wrought, which this fear doth connote;

Than he hath slain a babe, or ‘pon high clouds skiff’d boat!


On this head am I enamour’d of her,

In that head still a million tanging tongues,

Why runs my love than Revenge’s stomach deeper,

No bottom hath, and being fill’d still longs!

Sweet as black wine which down from Chios flows,

I from her go, like crooks to hanging,

Tearful and without hope, till next meeting;

Who to her thus come, some fresh green life knows!

Gawp then how grows my kindness to her for no kind,

And mind is contract to her in close-knit bind?


I love her best of all for that she betters all,

She me I see not why, and aye me thus inthral!


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By Sydney Chesterfield on September 16, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry, Trends

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