Sonnet VIII

I found her there amongst the barren tombs,

laid on a bed of tear-stained fallen leaves.

She weeps for my young heart with all its wounds,

and still for these lost loves she kneels to grieve.

Where am I now? Still in her sweet embrace,

buried beneath this tragedy of old.

I give to memory her somber face,

for memory will paint her skin with gold.

To Eden’s gate let me now raise this love,

amongst that greatest loss, to take its place.

To hell below I sink from sky above,

and take with me these memories of grace.

And still your fair and weeping voice calls out

across this cold abyss of earth and cloud.

-Dryden