Queron 18 illustrated by Mark Hammermeister
Shall
I compare thee to a Winter’s day?
Thou
art more still and far more temperate.
Rough
winds do shake the manor’s windowpanes,
and
Winter’s lease hath all too short a date.
But
thy eternal Winter shall not fade
so
long as in the virgin’s blood you bathe
nor
lose possession of that fair thou owest;
nor
shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
when
in eternal crimson-thirst thy ghost
administers
its soul-suck to thy prey.
And
yet in aerial din cold Death may boast
his
servant to the Netherworlds beguiles.
Innocent,
I laid near thee, Twilit Host,
but,
O, thy soul within a nadir lie.
By
dawn we both drank deep the salt of Fate.
So
long as men can breathe, or eyes can cry,
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