The passing cloud, that shades the sun's bright face,
Doth move along and vanish from the sky;
The fading flower, with its short-lived grace,
Must bend its head and with its colour die.
And so our moments, filled with breath and light,
Are but a momentary, swift design,
That fade and dim before the coming night,
And leave behind no true or lasting sign.
But when I gaze upon thy truthful eyes,
I find a stillness that the world can't know,
A quiet depth where no deception lies,
And find a peace that no such change can show.
So let the world its fleeting beauty boast,
My steady heart will love thee as its most.
Sonnet 22
When sleep, the final shadow of the day,
Doth close the curtains on my weary sight,
And sends my searching spirit on its way,
Through silent gardens of the dream-bound night,
Then art thou present, not a form of clay,
But living truth, that time can not divide,
A vibrant ghost that will not pass away,
Forever walking softly at my side.
But waking brings the morning's harsh command,
And with it, truth that beauty is but brief,
And I am left with sorrow in my hand,
A silent witness to my waking grief.
And so I turn from slumber's sweet deceit,
To walk the day, and find my bitter sweet.
Sonnet 23
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