Jovian's third sonnet
O worthy stranger, and yet stranger still
For beastly form to harbor such a heart,
More human than these men who take my part
Below, our warlike destiny to fill!
What dreams incomprehensible to man
Take shifting shape to stir your fevered rest?
With gentler dreams your slumber would be blest
'Twere mine to give - such comfort as I can
I offer now. And always, were it fair
To say such things when time is but a ruse,
When blood of my blood rends itself for use
Of true intent, and court a fell despair.
These violet eyes that reach into my soul
And warm my heart, will burn it yet to coal.