This Sonnet's Thine
Apologies to Elton John and Bernie Taupin.
How queerly beats this heart within mine breast!
My gold is scant, I own no manse nor lands
No sculptor I, nor potion-making blest
My quill’s the loom that weaves gifts from these hands
Upon the roof I sat to write these rhymes
But wroth I grew to scan this self-same verse
Then kindly sun bethought me that betimes
Thy kindled light shall lift my soul’s black curse
Thy pardon, dear! My muddled mind is dark.
Azure or vert, I cannot cozen which
From mem’ry’s vault. It matters not. But hark!
With eyes like thine a pauper’s purse feels rich!
And thou canst tell the world this sonnet’s thine
For all the world’s mine stage when thou art mine.
How queerly beats this heart within mine breast!
My gold is scant, I own no manse nor lands
No sculptor I, nor potion-making blest
My quill’s the loom that weaves gifts from these hands
Upon the roof I sat to write these rhymes
But wroth I grew to scan this self-same verse
Then kindly sun bethought me that betimes
Thy kindled light shall lift my soul’s black curse
Thy pardon, dear! My muddled mind is dark.
Azure or vert, I cannot cozen which
From mem’ry’s vault. It matters not. But hark!
With eyes like thine a pauper’s purse feels rich!
And thou canst tell the world this sonnet’s thine
For all the world’s mine stage when thou art mine.