Poetry

(after John Harington)
 
I saw a girl with eyes shining, ablaze
with cheeks much softer than a single rose
and saw her on some pleasant summer days,
broken things do not fit, she did disclose,
with good intentions, trouble was my own;
I know no way to melt a heart of stone.
 
It was too early for of love to speak,
saw unhappy tears running down her cheek,
while I did not know how I did cause pain,
have no ideas of what actions remain,
with good intentions, trouble was my own;
I know no way to melt a heart of stone.
 
The good deeds and words which are very kind
at times speaks to the heart, the soul and mind,
nothing rekindles a quenched desire,
less it’s some divine, Godly kind of fire;
with good intentions, trouble was my own;
I know no way to melt a heart of stone.
 
[Reference: “On Isabella Markham” by John Harington.]