All English Sonnets
With ceaseless vigour I, myself endeared-
To high and low. And when I wrote for you-
The weak and mighty, friend and enemy cheered.
And when to you I come to bid adieu,
I write of you, and feel it in my bones-
A tiny warning of a huge regret
Which pricks the marrow with its deadly thorns.
I fret and keep on saying I do not fret
And missing you, I think of you and write
And with each line my daily stature grows.
But you, my friend are out of worldly sight
Though all to you, I knew, the credit goes.
This -no one knows but if I could, I would
Renounce this world and come to you for good.