You, young woman of the alluring eyes,
your sure beauty has quite enraptured me.
Being your love’s object would be a prize
to most surely prod all others’ envy.
Here am I, love’s fool, leaping from wish to fact
when in truth I barely know your name.
But in your sweet presence I lose all tact –
your splendors’ boldness from my art evokes the same.
So let this sonnet stand as beacon bright
to let all know how your wild beauty’s bloom,
dear to my flesh and heart, both day and night,
can fill the world with joy, with sweet perfume.
No answer now do these poor verses seek
save blush or furtive tear on your fair cheek.

*    *   *

© Gregory V Driscoll  2015


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