Sonnet 2

To wreak a vengeance gentle and sublime,

Punish a thousand wrongs by one day's blow:

Stealth-handed Love once more took up his bow

And, master marksman, found the place and time.



My power retreated to my eyes and heart

To stand ground in that double citadel

Till the relentless, mortal blow befell

That place that blunted every other dart.



It lay thus, heartstruck by that first attack,

With neither space nor strength to stand again

And heed my summons to retaliate



Nor yet a battle plan to draw me back

From torment up to high and safe terrain,

Torment it tries to spare me all too late.