Sonnets of Old
A treasured relic laid away in scent
Of rose; a lover making compliment
To flashing eyes, intaglios etched as space
To hold the bittersweet of love; to face
Too fair to feel that time is exigent,
Where passion pleads for bold abandonment,
From chiseled lips that pique a warm embrace.
A living presence flutters with the page
As one by one a mistress stirs in verse.
They gently reserve for words repressed;
Our coldness taunt with ardor once possessed,
As line on line they openly rehearse
Their tender amours for our heritage.
Edited by May William Ward
(New York: Henry Harrison. 1935)