SELECTED POEMS

His Face

In his face I'd find
	as apt a dwelling for his impeccable soul
	as he in mine;
None again shall look upon me with such tenderness,
	nor beckon fondly thus
		that he might lay his head upon my breast,
			nor smile so sweetly as there he graced.
	Through nights I imagined countless, 
						in a rhapsody of bliss,
	I felt the warmth of his sweet breath upon my chest
						and slept at peace.
 
Now my eyes find tears always for his sweet memory,
But I measure my days against his pleasure still;
	Giving thanks to my Beloved that he died before me...
						vouchsafing my soul
							thus
						to spare him this ill,
						to spare him this ill,
						to spare Him this ill.