Wand’rest thou in the evening shade
where growetj the buds untrimmed.
The rose with all its thorns, pales
fade, against thy beauty.
Far fairer is thy complexion,
which bids decline of sun,
less alabaster cheeks find
a gentle dust of speckles, unkind.
Thou art mine eternal Valentine,
leased only for a short time,
whilst hidden in shadows decline.
This braggart’s heart gives way
to silent love’s impediments,
as ink spills this declaration
from quills end, unmarked by its maker.
A totter’d weed, of feebled age,
besieged unfairly, bows low
to societies bequest of duteous
stage. A sickle swung before
a blind heart could ripen.