Sonnet #2

Should sacred pain beauty excite in thee,
Cherish thou the oft-forgotten season;
Whereas Spring the blighted Earth doth quicken,
Autumn hosts the glittering jubilee.
Standeth the raw colt with quivering knee
Above his muscled sire? Nor doth suckling green
Best mellifluous clouds which e'ens darken,
Nor do sowers approach harvesters' glee.

Though nubile Helen commandeth a fleet,
On Cytherea's throne we sacrifice.
So, genesis of Joy were ne'er as sweet
As Eve's ultimate tang of Paradise.
Ere by Northern bonechill our vale is bound,
With golden farewell her heavens are crown'd.

© Bethylene, 2006