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Sonnet II

Hung orb in diamond sky—how long she wanes
That I must, for light, tarry with drugg’d feet;
Oh, moon, thou art my first malicious bane
Since lady gentle I, by moonglow, meet!
Pray—by thy brightest lambency I trust
The better I might view her noble form
With lissome frame and matchless comely bust
That lures from rot the paltriest worm.
Curse thee, moon, for I shall lag sans thy gleam
And cause maiden winsome to quake with doubt!
My eyes, though blear and narrow’d, waked do seem
When I regard yon lark turn up her pout.
Thin not, dear moon, for placid lady’s sake;
One timely show of brilliance vow to make.




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