The Sonnet's Lament to the Limerick
O, idle love that flows where meters clash,
Where sense and vigor do not well align;
For thou the bowl of sense do rudely smash,
For I, the quest for harmony divine.
Think not these matters well enough ignored,
That coursing love shall float us to the shore;
For current-crossing whirls one cannot ford,
The broken ship of love a thing of lore.
And still, there is the sunlight of thy strength,
That doth ignite the world with crooked rays;
So great thy power that knows too short a length,
I fear my sense is lost as I amaze.
And if but once thy rhyme was not the worst,
I know my heart with love should surely burst.
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