Jovian wrote this sonnet
While over shifting nighted lands I fly
The days race past on hooves of ancient rhyme
And I, who ever made a friend of Time,
Shall find her caught out in her warding lie.
The home that I have left to seek my path
Marked out in spots of scented flame and blood
Hath spirits of its own in burning flood
That drown the heart and ardor turn to wrath.
The hope, the foolish hope that dared to dawn
And sweep away the dread of lurking fate,
Is ground to dust beneath the lurching weight
Of sudden grief, of esperance withdrawn.
The shadows press our steady courses back
And mist my eyes as purple fades to black.