Oh, you are more desirable to me <br />Than all I staked in an impulsive hour, <br />Making my youth the sport of chance, to be <br />Blighted or torn in its most perfect flower; <br />For I think less of what that chance may bring <br />Than how, before returning into fire, <br />To make my dearest memory of the thing <br />That is but now my ultimate desire. <br />And in old times I should have prayed to her <br />Whose haunt the groves of windy Cyprus were, <br />To prosper me and crown with good success <br />My will to make of you the rose-twined bowl <br />From whose inebriating brim my soul <br />Shall drink its last of earthly happiness.<br /><br />Alan Seeger<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-06-4/
