Sonnet 14

Oh this weary heart of mine how it weeps!
With despair, how it weeps only for her,
To have to hold she a treasure to keep,
So near, so dear. Within me feelings stir
For her, my muse, the reason that I write!
Oh how I could write for her a story,
But not any night cast upon her light.
She speaks though need not eyes speak her glory,
It not in light but shadowed depths of night,
Unseen beneath a veil, but my eyes see,
Beauty foreseen within her eye shine bright,
They gleam like waters blue just as the sea.
Moonlight above just as bright she shine,
Oh what I would do just to make her mine.