SONNET OF THE SWEET COMPLAINT
Don’t let me ever lose the wonder
10
of your eyes like a statue’s, or the stress
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placed on my cheek at night.
6
by the solitary rose of your breath.
9
I’m afraid of being on this shore
9
a branch-less trunk: this deepest feeling
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of having no bloom, or pulp, or clay
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for the worm of my suffering.
7
If you’re my hidden treasure,
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if you’re my cross, and my moist pain,
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if I’m a dog, of yours, my master,
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never let me lose what I have gained,
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and decorate the branches of your stream
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with the leaves of my enraptured autumn.
11
Análisis métrico
14
Versos
9.1
Media silábica
128
Sílabas totales