Sickly Regret

Are thee but just a crisp mid-summer dream? In which she is abundant with Beauty Such can only be found inside sunbeams Whose looks would not be worth all the bounty; To cast my eyes away would be a sin, To retain my voice is to defile, One may only assume what lies within, When I see her I could run a mile; But yet every rose has it’s deathly thorn For this beauty morphs to baneful hatred So quickly my love turns to lucid scorn My life long love is a sickly ballad. So my heart becomes heavy with regret And then my lifeless cheeks are slowly wet