To me, she’s as the rowan tree;Her eyes as pools ‘neath azure skies—Reflecting all about her be—Her heart, a dart which quickly fliesInto my own, pierced with desire.Askr, Embla could not compete—Glacial melt hails from our hot fire—My soul is with her made replete. As she around me spins the fatesAnd pulls me to herContinue reading “A.C. Moore Sonnet 3: To My Love”
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