Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint
Never let me lose the marvel
Of your statue-like eyes, or the accent
The solitary rose of your breath
Places on my cheek at night.
I am afraid of being, on this shore,
A branchless trunk, and what I most regret
Is having no flower, pulp, or clay
For the worm of my despair.
If you are my hidden treasure,
If you are my cross, my dampened pain,
If I am a dog, and you alone my master,
Never let me lose what I have gained,
And adorn the branches of your river
With leaves of my estranged Autumn.
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