Adventure

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Adventure

Sonnet

I grow dangerous by every passing hour,
Bereft of shame and grow evermore garrulous,
Faintly, faintly akin to Thee O my Paramour,
To sorrow and grief become evermore impervious.

What cliff-edge must I in fear shun
When the free plunge ends in Thy arms?
What ocean-deep must I fear to drown
When it is Thou that embraces in waters?

I smile at ill-fortune that easily deceives
The little hearts that know not Thy humour.
I grow fond of all Thy ever-changing masks
That in truth draw out all submerged error.

In all this long winding soul-adventure
What more hast Thou packed I often wonder!