Dreaming - Fantasy-Sonnet I
The other night, as in a wondrous dream
while strolling by a poolside, quite unseen,
I chanced upon a nymph whose form did seem
th’epitome of female grace I ween.
‘Twas not that she was naked without clothes
nor yet her face or figure that recalled
but somewhat innocent, reflective pose,
th’imagination fired and mind enthralled.
Not wishing by my presence to affright
that lovely, lithesome vision by the pool,
I sneaked off without sound into the night
and left her unmolested there to cool.
Such innocence and beauty uncorrupted,
‘twere best to leave in peace, uninterrupted.
Hugh Wyles, July 26th. 2008.
(Oil on canvas (1884) “Seated Bather” by William Bouguereau.)
Author notes
This is the first of my quartet of fantasy-sonnets inspired by paintings of William Bouguereau. Please refer to: http://allpoetry.com/poem/4495913 )
In a list
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Comments
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Ah, those Victorians,
totally without the wit and grace
to see as the writer has seen,
the form, the moment, the artistry,
well-reflected in perfect choice of words.
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I really like the gentleness of the narrator in this poem. How delicate the thoughts to leave innocence undisturbed.
Yem said pretty much all with his comment, to which I totally agree.
Wonderful sonnet dad!
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Dear Hugh,
Here I am to read your poems on William Bouguereau and I'm quite thrilled with this the first of four.
Such innocence needs to be left untouched, unspoiled. You did the right thing walking away.
Your Sonnet is a pleasure to read my friend and the painting is magnificent.
Love Bea
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Innocence is a big deal with me...in writing I mean. Even my goofy stuff sometimes pits innocence against the corruptors. True being a cynic corruption usually wins, but the point usually is...it shouldn't. My point? It's the same with this poem, that desire to preserve innocence, it's really quite a deep poem in that way, that untainted beauty...there is more I think...a feeling that youth deserves its chance to be young. There is a time to leer and a time to know the difference...this poem knows...well the author does, the poem isn't human.
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