 |
Category: Writing and Poetry
You, the object of my art,
Laugh at praise from out my heart;
Call me crazy, a fool obsessed
When I tell you how, with you, I'm blessed.
My love, herself, thus does disprize
The beauty I hold in my eyes;
The aching wonder that I feel
Is painted common, called unreal.
By artless grace, you tantalize,
To so disgrace that which I prize;
You augment as you mesmerize
The beauty that your lips deny.
2:47 PM
Powered by  | | English | | Albanian | | Arabic | | Bulgarian | | Catalan | | Chinese | | Croatian | | Czech | | Danish | | Dutch | | Estonian | | Filipino | | Finnish | | French | | Galician | | German | | Greek | | Hebrew | | Hindi | | Hungarian | | Indonesian | | Italian | | Japanese | | Korean | | Latvian | | Lithuanian | | Maltese | | Norwegian | | Polish | | Portuguese | | Romanian | | Russian | | Serbian | | Slovak | | Slovenian | | Spanish | | Swedish | | Thai | | Turkish | | Ukrainian | | Vietnamese |
|