Sonnets to Telemann, part 2

Glances how brief signals how faint perhaps
A myst'ry of intent or real desire
The game only a task of constant lapse
A breath of longing mist or actual fire

O passion pools of light that hold a spark
The wreath of gold that shrouds the dream of touch
Or blank disdain for want or thought or mark
Nay but distant delight and little such

But how to sway the beauteous shade afar
Despite the lack of hope that hearts be true
Predict the path of light from random star
But yearn that road will be the course of two

Will passion break the plain reluctant shell
And free the thought of chance of tale to tell