An Attempt at an Ode
Poets have tried – and failed –
to convey your perfection,
and I must endure a similar fate.
You were my perfect muse, but now are gone away;
and at any time my eyelids bow
to the strength of the Sun’s rays,
you reappear, and I must raise them once again.
Despite the glory of the Sun, beautiful but austere,
your beauty knows no rival;
to me (and all those poets fallen),
that much is clear.
In a world darkened by regret, misfortune, and fear,
you shine brightly, serenely, eternally:
a star in your own sphere.