Читать книгу #Sonnets - Lucien Young - Страница 11

These sonnets jest, dear K, for well I grasp

That this, my love, shall not returnèd be.

In dreams alone I shall thy backside clasp;

I know thee from, not in, reality.

Thou art a creature far beyond my aim,

Yet still it pains me when each day I glance

At websites that thine exploits doth proclaim

And magazines that bear thy countenance.

But one sweet notion keeps me from despair:

’Tis for thine image, not thyself, I fell,

Thine image, which endureth everywhere

And never shall my yearning eyes repel!

While I love this, thine all-pervading double,

No earthly hindrance may my loving trouble.