Sonnet XIX

The very sight of her is adequate:
Her shimmering hair, her lucent, brilliant eyes.
She is divine to me, as if she was
A vision, sent to me, in brightness lit.

My love is close enough for me to kiss;
I see her daily, blithe and elegant.
But silence fills the void between ourselves,
Replacing words that, said, would tarnish bliss.

I want to hide my love from prying eyes,
And thus, my anguish burns, but even so
It seems she cheers me when I’m not content.
She is so biddable, but bright and wise.

I wish to show her that I love her still…
But should I? Indecisiveness is foul.