For in Fate’s tutelage, love’s a queer whip
That bringst little joy but anxious wantings.
Dare a moment of trust lie sweet on Time’s lip
The next shall cleave, lese majesty it brings.
Myriad ferules make coral scars common
And mind sillies to seek purpose in pain.
What such life heralds, what seeks the soul broken
Will one ever know, what be good Fortune’s bane?
When grey sorrow bows to a blacker one,
Sole joy I limn in grief’s colourful run.