The first four lines of this sonnet were written in high school. Unfortunately, I threw away my book of sonnets from back then, and I can't, for the life of me, remember the rest of the poem. So, I attempted to reconstruct the poem's theme and finish what I knew. Here it is:
My lady's bosom rose is midnight black,
Its petals brush her cheek as though a pall
For her were gathered from a dying track
Of roses when the leaves whither and fall;
And I beside her bier pretend to mourn
So without company to keep the rite
Of worshipping my goddess, so much torn
Between being bereaved or acolyte;
And next to this unconsecrated fane,
On whose altar her fairest limbs are laid--
No more pale in death than life--in vain
Are libations of tears for prayers unpaid.
For only now Persephone's embrace
Has cast aside my fear to ask her grace.
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