Sonnet 8

Upon a crest where golden sun doth rest,

A lark ascends as if to touch the sky,

And there upon its breast, a sweet bequest,

A melody so sweet, it doth belie.

In nature's bloom and splendor doth unfold,

The petals soft, that blush like crimson morn,

The velvet hues of violet and gold,

In harmony entwined, a beauty born.

Yet in this world of wonder and delight,

Lies shadows dark, where envy takes its hold,

For love, like rose, is oft eclipsed by night,

And passions burn, as fervent as they're cold.

But like the sun that conquers ebon shade,

Love's light shall triumph o'er the dark parade.