Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint

never let me lose the marvel

of your statue-like eyes, or t

tary rose of your breath

places on my c night.

i am afraid of being, on this shore,

a brancrunk, and regret

is having no flower, pulp, or clay

for the worm of my despair.

if you are my reasure,

if you are my cross, my dampened pain,

if i am a dog, and you alone my master,

never let me lose w i have gained,

and ado the branches of your river

ranged autumn.