Amour, "love" doth signify,
And amie is to the French, "friend."
Amy is both, and when she draws nigh,
I fear my heart doth rend.
Her soul is as sweet as the bloom of her cheek
Her heart is as pure as the light
Her beauty shines forth as a matter of course
It's her face I see in the night.
The honeysuckle wafts her name
Across the vernal breeze
The wind sings songs all night long
Through the branches of the trees.
Dark accusing stares reproach:
"Why dost thou speak not?"
The very shadows do encroach,
Whispering, "Why not, why not?"
"Unworthy!" I cry, "My heart's a-sin!
I am not worthy to touch her robe!
She's holy!" I cry, "And touched within
By God's own precious hope.
"My heart is black, my presence stained,
My soul is not yet clean,
And not until His returning reign
Will my worthiness be seen.
"So I may not approach her here
Upon this sullied Earth--
My worth, I fear, of such a dear,
Must await my own rebirth."
"So wouldst thou then await the Rapture?
And speakest not throughout this life?
Wouldst thou then let thine heart be captured
By one throughout the rest of life?
"Wouldst thou then give up all chance for the Joy
For which we all were created
Some of us Girl, and some of us Boy
So that love could be celebrated--
"Because of thy fear, because of thy lack
Of things in which thou seest worth?
But what if she, like God hath a knack
For loving those things without worth?
"Go," says the voice, the counsel of hope,
"Go ask her to thee consider,
And if she says yea, or if she says nope,
Thy position can only be better.
"So if thou really lovest her true,
She should know that thine heart is hers
And allow her to tell what she feels for you
And not assume rejection for her."
"Wise counsel!" I cry, "I'll do as you say!
I'll make my love to her known!
And if she'd say 'nay,' I'd go on my way,
And know, and cease to groan.
"But if she'd say 'yea,' joy could be mine,
And the risk, it would have been worthy,
And her words, then, would to me be a sign
That the world is a place, now, of beauty."
So Amy, my love, Amy, my dear,
What sayest thou to my verses?
Wilt thou be mine, may I be thine,
Can our lives run similar courses?
Answer, my dear, with the truth in thine heart
Yea or nay, I would know thy thought--
Should I approach, or should I depart,
Or should I just stay--your friend Scott?
11/3/91
(she said no)