Sonnet I

The morning of your love was like a dream

Of Aphrodite rising from the sea.

Your purity, your shine, your golden gleam

Were like the moon and stars had heard my plea.

My feelings swelled like fruit from softest land,

Out from my lonely cell I was paroled,

Until the day I felt you with my hand

And sensed your tender skin as bitter cold.

And thus our separate ways you had us part

Like when a gust of wind puts out a light;

The end came on as quickly as the start,

And on my splendid day was thrust a night.

But still I know that, although you are gone,

The coldest nights still give way to the dawn.