To Ava: A Sonnet.

O’ fairest maiden, how lovely art thou,
With thine eye alike to a star-dappled sky,
A lily’s tenderness on cheek and brow,
Which wayfaring admirers come by?

How dost the pale moon rival thee at night,
Thy visage shrouded beneath ornate gold:
A vision of splendor by firelight,
As a breathtaking marvel to behold?

How thou hast ravished his heart with one glance
Who keeps thee in his own loving embrace,
And surpassed the plight of forlorn romance
With a touch of genuineness and grace?

Wherefore dost true love abound in thy kiss?
With hopes undreamed of and undying bliss.