By Plutarch
Date: 22 August 2000
Sonnet
I am as tired of thinking as my thought
Is never tired to find itself in you,
And of not yet leaving this life that brought
Me the too heavy weight of sighs and rue;
And because to describe your hair and face
And the eyes of which I always speak,
Language and sound have not become too weak
And day and night your name they still embrace.
And tired because my feet do not yet fail
After following you in every part,
Wasting so many steps without avail,
From whence derive the paper and the ink
That I have filled with you; if I should sink,
It is the fault of Love, not of my art.
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