A Sonnet

My being burns and aches all over
Infected by a strange spirit fever.
What cure shall I seek to heal
This ailment strange by what pill?

My words don’t work, nor wincing
My being is tossed into a fire burning.
I live now in all fireflies of the world
Drifting through the night dark and cold.

I turn in vain to every distant glimmer
Of star or sun or even shadowy shimmer.
I grow shameless now, ready for any price
Would wager my modest all in a trice.

Take me now O Divine Beloved above
Spare not the burning lashes of Thy love.