minstrel: Another Sonnet

Harold Feld hfeld at ids2.idsonline.com
Sun Apr 27 06:22:58 PDT 1997


        I dare not say her eyes are like the sun;
        She is too wise for hoary compliments.
        Without her I would swear my life is done,
        But she would laugh at such old blandishments.
        Curse all the ripe romantic poetry
        That jack-a-napes have mouthed in every age,
        Thus turning loving odes to mockery
        And passion to commedia on stage!
        How can I tell my love what some fell knave
        Has us'ed to deceive an innocent?
        How dare I ask my love to be so brave
        As trust that all my words are truly meant?
                But if she from these words can sense my pain,
                I'll not hold my heart's labor spent or vain.

Harold Feld
SCA
Yaakov HaMizrachi

"Do not ask 'Why are these days not as good as the days of old?' This
question is not prompted by wisdom." -Eccl.



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