I delved into the dark domains to find
the interdicted arts to win your looks.
With no Mephistophelean deed to bind,
I sought the ancient sages’ spells in books.
I mixed Shakespearean wit, Miltonian nerve,
with pinch of Chaucerian jest and Spenserian dole,
then threw Jacobean thoughts, Victorian verve,
composed the worthy chant did you extol.
Should such attempt of love’s confession fail,
I’d burn my books, from which my heart breaks free.
Ere then, I live a life without travail
in dream, where your angelic lips made me
immortal e’en without a gentle kiss,
for in your words I’ve found eternal bliss.
2015/6/8
