Desire which achieves its desire will die.
Is desire blessed, which fails, and continues to try?
But look how my desire grieves to never capture you.
I fail, wisely; I let desire fail, which all desire must do;
If my desire wins, and you are no longer desired by me,
Love will die. So I let my desire win you in my poetry.
My desire must love this poem, not your desire.
Not you, not you. I cannot put out the fire.
Let me desire the poem which perfectly captures you.
When this poem does at last what desire, dying, must do,
You and I will be immortal, and I will burn as brightly for you
As the sun, which aspires
To burn more nights,
To burn and feed with love, the shady, lesser lights,
Who God, with bright desire desires,
Desire of my love as bright as you and all your bright, and loving, fires.