Sonnet II

    My lover's voice floats like a golden mist,
    When're he speaks to me of lovely things;
    And like a melody that June had kissed,
    It swirls up through the sapphire sky and sings.
    Then, when he turns to me so tenderly,
    His words drift like faint whispers on the breeze,
    As softly as the humming of a bee
    Amidst the sounds of summer in fruit trees.
    Alas, our moonlit nights and primrose vales
    Have faded now, along with all my prayers;
    Yet, in my mind his charming voice prevails--
    And nothing else of consequence compares.
    Now, on each windborne tune I’ve come to find,
    his haunting aura still invades my mind.