Toihthe
No hungry star ascendant at my birth
Foretold the famine that consumes my days,
No flaming sword prohibited the ways
Of vision where I parch through beauty’s dearth,
Alas! no flower of heaven or of earth
Yields loveliness to fill your meed of praise,
Within my heart no spark divine betrays
The power to tell of your immortal worth.
You say you are unworthy—how can I
Fend from your truth the self-destroying dart?
Within my shield of vision is no part
Of mirrored certitude you can deny;
You are what God has made you—and my heart,
And in this faith at least I’ll live and die.
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