The Pole Star, guide to sailors, glitters clear.
Susan is my cold star; but I'll ignite
her heart, blazing a nova through the night,
if only I can bring my candle near.
She floats serene, disdains love, will not hear
complaints, and won't leave her celestial height:
may Love's arrows confer their itching bite
as rhymed desire dances within her ear.

     My ship is battered, its sails torn to rags
by the whole gale that rages. Who'd have thought
a storm was due, and yesterday so fair?
Enroute to blessed isles, my voyage lags:
I won't turn back, but can't make headway, caught
by hurricanes. Will dawn bring calmer air?