In keeping with the current pattern of romantically inclined sonnets, I produce this more recently written offering, a meditation on the complexities of a passion inherently limited by time. Unlike the others, this one follows a classically Shakespearean rhyme scheme, and in similarly Shakespearean fashion, it bears no title, just a first line. (This last was, of course, intentional. There is no chance, no chance whatsoever, that it just might be the result of an unfortunate and sudden stroke of writer's block.)
Had I to give the better of my years,
A younger body, and a younger heart--
Could I but linger in this vale of tears
A moment more, I would not fear to part.
Had I to give an infinite embrace,
I grant I would not hesitate to fall,
Had I ten years to look upon your face
With raptured eyes, or any years at all;
But I have only months and days and hours
To give to you, and I, who hoped to climb
The heights of principalities and powers,
Am now reduced to share with caddish Time--
But if our flame burns briefly, it burns bright,
And makes each day the dearer for the light.