For "Her."
What a fool I was to think you my muse!
Believing any mortal could possess
Such grace – a goddess divine; of virtue
Celestial, and spirit unsuppressed.
I swore by your imagined perfection;
Seeking to prove devotion with sonnets
Forged in the fever of self-delusion –
Earning instead shame I fear infinite.
And, like the modern Prometheus, ‘twas
Inevitable this creation would
Destroy my mind, leaving me to puzzle
O’er that emotion most misunderstood.
Despite defect, my passion was no lie;
But, love
neglected will wither and die.
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