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Sonnet 10/05/03                               DCCCXVI

I sip at cup of tea: It warms my lips
Like thought of muse, but is not half so sweet.
Can I hope that we might some morning greet,
Or that I might kiss palm, or fingertips?
I finish drink, but thought from dream still sips,
Seeking to know her wish, that I might be
One to fulfill desires. Might I muse see,
That I can with my passion come to grips?

Were I a tree, I would remain in bloom
To please my muse, and keep her from all gloom.
   But then, I could not think to desire hold
   And whisper her my dreams, though they be bold.
      How shall I earn her smile, and tears remove:
      Can I to my sweet muse my caring prove?