This is a favorite of mine because it feels more like something that would have been written 100 years ago. And it uses some of the oldest literary tricks in the poetry book. Traditional Shakespearean, down to the use of the first line for a title. I am fairly pleased with the end rhyming–but I need to stop ending on such weak rhymes in my final couplet. It seems to be a habit.
Thy Pale Death, O Day, Enchants Me Not
Thy pale death, O Day, enchants me not.
Thine ending glow, thy downfall casts no shade
Of deepest black against thy glow. Uncaught
My breath, unstirred my heart. I bade,
I wished, I wanted naught but breathless joy.
Cold is thy heart to mock me with such lack
And falling in such pallor to annoy,
To taunt and to be brash behind my back.
Thou art, O Sunset, longing of my heart,
To bring this day to end which I have loathed.
Glorious fire, hues of gold impart!
But why dost thou remain thus poorly clothed?
You see my longing, mourning end with day–
And still you will not end with gold, but gray.