Sonnet 358

If true love be for sale then what’s the cost
Where grotesque men seem pardoned by the purse—
When love is purchased, is sweet virtue lost,
Is female vanity here deemed the worse?
How oft upon the street all eyes to greet
A striking flower on a rich lapel,
Yet florets worn by paupers seldom seen
Lest angels fall from heaven or rise from hell.
Perhaps the glint of gold makes women blind
To all the faults that moneyed men possess,
Or is it merely that pure hearts wax kind
To Midas forms that Venus failed to bless?
Where in pure love should lucre play a part,
Save bargain blush to paint a paper heart.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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