a sonnet

I cast gramercy forth thy rueful troth
And nay mote swoon 'twixt blooming mirth and woe.
Nigh bodkin thwart I ford o' grief I loathe
That bestoweth morn- behold and lo!
Thou art bulwark o' mine in boon and sorrow,
I harken to thy breath within a scowl.
I wit: thou art my daunted awe in hollow,
A blissful dirge o' feign'd and banish'd role.
Swathe thou me in thy blindfolded eaves:
Mayhap thou art a cherub or an imp.
Caress the darken'd flesh o'wither'd leaves
And I shall bequeath thee pulse's limp.
Orbest thou my heart in sweven's rapture
Ere my pale eyne droop in my lief capture.
And nay mote swoon 'twixt blooming mirth and woe.
Nigh bodkin thwart I ford o' grief I loathe
That bestoweth morn- behold and lo!
Thou art bulwark o' mine in boon and sorrow,
I harken to thy breath within a scowl.
I wit: thou art my daunted awe in hollow,
A blissful dirge o' feign'd and banish'd role.
Swathe thou me in thy blindfolded eaves:
Mayhap thou art a cherub or an imp.
Caress the darken'd flesh o'wither'd leaves
And I shall bequeath thee pulse's limp.
Orbest thou my heart in sweven's rapture
Ere my pale eyne droop in my lief capture.