a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets” (9)
“Betimes he comes, upon the rosy hour...”
BETIMES he comes, upon the rosy hour
perfumed with myrrh and spices of the morn
he comes with kisses, my body to adorn
like to the bee, alighting on its choicest flower
as the bridegroom, coming to the bridal bower
shining like the day when he was born
in my hand, he sets a rose with not a thorn
among the gifts that by the day he showers
upon me, but I must turn and hide my face
I know myself unworthy of delight
my eyes in tears, I seek to flee this place
but in my heart I know I’ll find no respite
for fearful thoughts we never can outpace
and love is given, and must be got, in grace
Is this your own writing? Sorry I am not a learned literary connoisseur but it is beautiful and I appreciate you sharing it. Reminds me of Song of Songs or Shakespeare?
Awe-inspiring! Good to read aloud, and full of feeling and truth.