SONNET ON DESOLATION

Yon itinerates the Phoebe,

I feel not it's coolness

Sans aroma, crimson roses

That blooms within my seraglio,

Sun that giveth radiance

Scorches me not!

Lacks shade, the trees

Where I stand.

When damsels embrace me

Ne’er am I in lust

Though posset I do drink

It embitters my tongue

Sans my Psyche - this terra

Is inferno unto me.