sonnet 147 of 232 to my muse...


Sonnet 26/03/04                     DCCCXCVII

I would not ever choose to cause you pain
Or have you think I do not care. I try
To be what you might need, that hope might gain
Another smile, or dreams to you might fly.
Might words be music to you, and my lines
Give pleasure, and a smile? Might I hope eyes
That give dreams look at me, and find some signs
Of what I feel, that I might dreams realize?
I cannot tire of caring, nor of dreams
That bring you to my arms: Yet, I desire
You find what you might need. My own soul seems
To balance upon what your dreams require.
Shall I be jealous that you have love found?
Can truest concern be by desires bound?