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Literature Text
Some days the time doth seem to slip away
Whilst words you seek to pen thine heart to me
are hard of coming, yet you ne'er do stray
refusing to let promises made flee
fret ye as to your talent in this art
when phrases sought do rather seem to freeze
and ink seems dry to contradict thine heart
struggle not, for through you mine flow with ease
My sweet, doubt not of your abilities
know as I set my glance o'er what you muse
icy fire sparks, which more than doth appease
mine cheeks effect to vary in their hues
Wherefore, ask ye, do I write, who am I inspired to
Mark ye this, love, the answer always: 'only ever you'
Whilst words you seek to pen thine heart to me
are hard of coming, yet you ne'er do stray
refusing to let promises made flee
fret ye as to your talent in this art
when phrases sought do rather seem to freeze
and ink seems dry to contradict thine heart
struggle not, for through you mine flow with ease
My sweet, doubt not of your abilities
know as I set my glance o'er what you muse
icy fire sparks, which more than doth appease
mine cheeks effect to vary in their hues
Wherefore, ask ye, do I write, who am I inspired to
Mark ye this, love, the answer always: 'only ever you'
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