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!