Sweet Love , Your Cheek Is Pale

Love never dies

Sweet love, your cheek is pale and your crest

Is laid with spleens of winter’s iron rage.

Your lip is faint, and your heart now does rest

Within the bowelled dungeons of sore age.

Your kiss, once but a touch of summer’s blood

Is now a stab of winter’s dreary gripe,

And your eyes now are with miasmas fraught.

Your soul presents no flower or fruit, ripe.

The visions of your dream have been expelled

By wanton winds that o’er the canyons sweep

And love that you within your gaze beheld

Has sunk within eternal, frosted sleep.

    That isn’t so: when summer’s ripening

    Sweet blossoms on your pale face, then spring.

Author's Note

Anything I can improve upon?

Reviews

[MsJewel]

I adore romantic poetry and this is lovely. I love the classic feel to your words...so bittersweet and beautiful.

:) Julie

[Gleb Zavlanov]

Thank you for your kind words.

[MsJewel]

My pleasure. Thank you for the friend request! :)

[Sami Khalil]

A beautiful and very descriptive poem. I like the totality of it...Bravo.........

[Angel]

I love the way his love portrays the seasons...
And will it bloom again in spring?

[Rita L. Sev]

Beautifully melancholy with a lovely sonnet flow. I like this, Gleb - well done!

[icelandicblue]

Love changes like the seasons. You've got some exquisite imagery in this poem:

Sweet love, your cheek is pale and your crest
Is laid with spleens of winter’s iron rage.
Your lip is faint, and your heart now does rest
Within the bowelled dungeons of sore age.

[Anthony M. Roman]

I enjoyed it, sad and thoughtful. Even more, it's in tone with the season to come.

[Gleb Zavlanov]

Thank you for your kind words.