Though verse may languish in the public dross

This sterling rune shall here proclaim by fame

The best that truth and beauty ever was,

That all who read, desire to know your name.

No greater challenge posed to poet’s ink

Than your sweet essence blest beyond compare,

Where, quill in hand, spun golden hours sink

As muses strive to find just tribute there.

While many mighty pens have sworn to score

A timeless paean to rare beauty born,

Over ink stained notes perpetually pour

In hapless toil, near triumph e’er to mourn.

Here I sit poised, clear victory in my sight—

Rapt in a vision words can scarce bedight.