Sonnet XII
I
would say this to you if my tongue would speak
The
words I will it to: you are growing
More
and more beautiful as time is flowing
Away.
All its mere essences now reek
In
quiet corners, unaware; it is bleak
In
front of you, for you are not showing
Any
resistance to its crude bestowing—
That
brings dust to wind and the soul to eek.
But
what would these ugly winds of age do
To
you, whose beauty is secured, in part
Somewhere
concealed, in part somewhere so true
That
it needs no hiding for itself, for who
Is
it that dares questions raise? It is your heart
Of
course which all beauty holds (and your eyes too).
X-x-X
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