Sonnet for Ten (III)

Question not this feeling in my heart, dear.
Thou art more beautiful in repose
And no such cowards should propose
that thine talents are all but mere.
Should the inquiry of the lovesick
make my heart grow surely faint
for questioning this is rather quaint
and it cuts a truth, deep and painfully quick.

My heart is seems is not enough for you
nor twisted hand of tempestuous Fate.
Dear, I have so much madness put through
my system and tis failing. Oh, Await
not, my oblivious and dearest friend
for thou may never know of my Love's end.