Sleep is by far a fair and wondrous thing
that brings to restful eyes a magic world
where souls in artful flight do dance and sing
and fancies not in life can be unfurled.
But keenest dreams of all, in wonder viewed,
are those that bring me glimpse of thy fair face.
These fleeting moments are, with joy, imbued,
to rest in tender arms and touch thy grace.
And oh! the rapture these few minutes bring
before the sad, cruel world bids me awake.
The loss echoes within - a hollow ring,
an empty want of thee in dreaming's wake.

I beg thee, spirit fair, come joy, come pain:
return, that I might dream of thee again.

04/23/2003

Author's Note: Yet another attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet...I'm starting to like writing these a lot. Love the older-style language needed.

Posted on 04/23/2003
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