I wrote the following poem about forty years ago, part of a number of
Faux-Shakespearean sonnets to one particular young lady; this
happens to be one of the few I can recall in its entirety.
Thou lov'st me not? How sadly 'tis expressed
And vainly thy fond heart compassion feels
For which of two, think'st thou, should have the best:
The Goddess bravely praised, or he who kneels?
If thou did'st never so in darkness go
That seeing me might cause the Sun to rise
Nor at my touch the joys of Heaven know
Or found the soul of beauty in mine eyes -
Why, whose is then the loss and whose the gain?
And which of us in truth must poorer be?
For Love such riches brings to ease love's pain
As turn all else compar'd to poverty
If thou must pity, pity for my sake
That cannot give thee back what I do take!