Our hero, Percival Lowell, has fallen into a deep depression. Let us afford him time to recover, filling the interlude with a love sonnet in the courtly Elizabethan tradition...

Interlude (Plutonic Sonnets 126)

In blessed moments when I feel your smile
Shine down on me, I dare say there is none
So richly gifted with the gift of guile
As to persuade me you are not the Sun.
But when in darkness you are my sole light,
And but for you I feel I would as soon
Surrender as keep up the losing fight,
’Tis no less clear to me: you are the Moon.
Sun, Moon (or planet)—which of these three
A piece of matter is, a matter is
That matters greatly to astronomy;
And it can be but one, which takes no whiz
To see. But as a poet, I may say
You are my Moon by night, my Sun by day.

(Courtesy of America Star Books)

Poetry by Rob Graber
Read 85 times
Written on 2019-06-13 at 17:14

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Yayāti The PoetBay support member heart!
A well-writ Elizabethan sonnet! Kudos!