Isabella

The lithely hale of youth has spent;
I have, by device, my flower bent.
My summer goddess haunts only dreams;
I am denied but your gaunt supremes.
I'll dizzy as I tumble an autumnal fall,
But hope to hear a beckoning call,
That I might brace for winter's cold
In some embrace as I grow old.
For yet I stagger on mountain's crest;
Come join my fall! and I'll do the rest.
Ill suffer the thorns of a briar rose,
I'll shower you with effort's prose.
Though I'll not have much for you in verse,
Just broken dreams should be much worse;
For all in all what's it to me
If my summer goddess appears to be
But a vain wish and my marriage strife?
It only lasts for my short, small life.