Sonnet 290

I'll not presume to tout to you my love,
Who knows the mortal tenor of my heart;
Yet would beseech to know the path above
That could exalt the baseness of my wonted part.
Audacious lips would publicly proclaim
My debts to you, but for the echoes’ scorns
At how I steal a blessing off your name:
Dishonor yours when such with you adorns.
Impatient screams from unrequited soul
Teach you to sing in foreign tongue obscure
To auditors, and I will you cajole
Till lust for you with you is filled and pure.
     Until within does nought but you abide,
     Cheat death, sweet silence; rest my sin of pride.
© 2002