I fell beside thee,
And formed for us, quilt made of romance.
I love all that you are, of all eyes made to be orbs,
For the future’s peering, into its watery distance.
We sail in our fear,
And quake beneath tears,
Oh, how terrible are the stars under your eyes,
You’ve made a bed for us both,
A bed of love, made fullest in silken quilts.
Famed, we have become.
In love, we are as one,
As two creatures, of Buck and Doe,
A chase, a nest upwards in Heaven.
Oh, how desire sweeps us to the current and its edge
Near a river; for how does death think of us?
Love is a muse; It is made to be you,
As you are the loveliest pearl from this shore.
Give me kisses, sweet one,
Full of life,
Full of your eyes,
With no more raining stars,
With no more idle flesh,
No more death.
Nothing but the truly fascinating face,
Of white cheeks and bleak tress.
Lovely in form, anguished at heart.
I will cure the sorrow,
The one so much alike the Mary of Christ;
For how many times have we embraced,
As vulnerability! As vulnerability!
We are only made beautiful, when loved.
“Oh, love, when will be reach the shores,”
You ask to me.
I say in response to you,
“Soon as the sail is full of wind, and your eyes!
When they never fall another tear, we will reach.”
Give me the benefit of a morrow,
Of a delight, not made by sorrow.
What have I, when not among you?
Nothing, for am I not without the sanity,
And insanity, that love bequeaths.
Modern Romanticism 