Sonnet 06

Alan Seeger

Oh, you are more desirable to me

Than all I staked in an impulsive hour,

Making my youth the sport of chance, to be

Blighted or torn in its most perfect flower;

For I think less of what that chance may bring

Than how, before returning into fire,

To make my dearest memory of the thing

That is but now my ultimate desire.

And in old times I should have prayed to her

Whose haunt the groves of windy Cyprus were,

To prosper me and crown with good success

My will to make of you the rose-twined bowl

From whose inebriating brim my soul

Shall drink its last of earthly happiness.