Sonnet IV

The wind so eas’ly breaks the windmill strong
And smolders the candle’s brilliant flame;
It silences and carries ‘way the bird’s song,
But cruel, it knows and it claims thee by name.
Existence, in turn, severs just the same.
Innocence becomes degradation’s bliss,
Passion’s youth is hushéd and of defame,
And thy only pleasure becomes death’s kiss.
The vapor of life thy delights remiss,
Frivolous crusades deface their purpose,
And thy surrenders other’s eyes dismiss.
Company’s council demands thy repose,
Ere, a mother whose heart, tender and mild,
Holds the cold, still hand of her only child.

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