Take heart, my love! Those of the lies who brew
Do dwell beneath the statuette of you—
So firmly carved, no words of them and new
Could taint the bronze your merits timely due.
I too am found beside your tallest might;
Though I pair not, yet did our love we pair,
That had me seen in lens that greaters sight:
The shortest man becomes too tall to stare.
Yet now, without your breath, my growth's reversed,
And all my strength has closed within your eyes,
That in your smile a sculptor has rehearsed
The grace of you, wherein my best self dies.
But left behind, a truth my angel knows?
Absent your love, my worship of you grows.
