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Sonnet 73: 'The Agon of a Love Thrown Out, Debased'
The agon of a love thrown out, debased,
Doth wound as deep as deeply ever could
It cuts across the veins in my pump based
And turns my heartfelt words to dull, dry wood.
It is a blinding shadow hid in wit
That thinks, by wit that it cannot be seen,
A diamond rose, and silver leaf – on it,
A gold acorn; these three are yet too mean
To offer to the lady of my heart,
Or yet, to win her favor for my helm,
Or yet, to seal my hope against her dart,
Enough! For her, the finest in the realm!
Doth not suffice, nor will, my noble friend.
But you shall love her to the bitter end.
Copyright ©
Andrew Fairchild
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