Upon this sphere there is no grander prize,
Than love that bleeds from every needing pore,
Replete with aspect, vouchsafe of those eyes,
Transmitting thoughts, though known, will still explore.
Her eyes, they close, as of herself she gives
All that she can; her sighs, her heart affirm,
As spark, unique, ‘tween bodies one, survives
And hand Divine, does deathless bond, confirm.
Exhaustion reached, yet breath not quite to norm.
As gist of both, so too, emotions mixed.
Beneath him does she lie, adoring form,
With lips apart, her gaze remains transfixed.
Of verses three, which one prefers Outcast?
T’would be the one where love’s professed; the last.



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