Sonnet 7

Upon the morn a golden sun doth rise,

And crimson clouds doth paint the eastern sky;

Yet darkness lingers in fair beauty's eyes,

Where tender dreams are sung, but never pry.

The gentle breeze doth kiss the blossoming rose,

As whispers speak of love's eternal vow;

In secret shade, the heart's desire doth grow,

Yet shadows hide the truth, we know not how.

A nightingale doth sing in twilight's hue,

Her mournful song of love's sweet agony,

As stars above reflect the tears we rue,

In mirrored pools of deep tranquility.

Yet in the dawn, when light doth conquer night,

Love's truth shall shine, a beacon burning bright.