Forlorn and forgotten, no glory, no fame
With past less than golden, with future as grim
In what mortal language can venture proclaim
This soul you enrapture, this heart you inflame?
Love is my cross,
And, reason, my chain . . .
Love, once lost, recaptured to lose again
Had silence implored to nurture the pain,
The fangs of frustration in furtive refrain.
Grant me words, Venus, a propos to pen
These thoughts warm and tender,
And longing profound . . .
For oft thither-hither did I move around
To change this sordid scheme of things unsound
Yet neither here nor there have I chance found
Soft comfort borne of less hostile ground.
Sweet agony, they say,
Makes reason strong . . .
Then all of one sudden like an Angels throng
To me unbeknownst, chance brought you along
Reason got confused, feared lest be wrong
Thenceforth got engrossed in Cupid's sweet song.
You're a force akin
To Kant's antinomies . . .
Like Xanthian surge is this urge to possess
You and not just your more than lovely face
E'n Goethe, or Heine, or Dante, or Horace
Would abandon poetry to savor with a kiss
The metaphysics in you lips,
The Religion in your eyes . . .
'Tis poignant irony, 'tis jest of the wise
That love unbespoken be reason's advice
A heart easily taken by Cupid's caprice
May soon bring the mind a tragic demise:
Bittersweet of many
A Shakespearean tragedy . . .
As that drinking Persian could not find the key
To the myriad questions both fools and wise men see
By Life's dialectics -- Freedom/Necessity
Love in unreason is fleeting fantasy.
Love entwined reason
True Beauty begets . . .
Life being boundless in its predicates
Chance needs not cherish what reason befits
Hence fear and frustration can challenge the wits
On the mortal question: Are you beyond reach?
Such question thus posed . . .
Much answer is lost!