He gave to her, yet tenfold claimed in return
She hath no life but the one he for her wrought
Proffered to her his walking heart - she turned it down
Reposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.

Prophetess or fond?
Though her parle of truth
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!"
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane
Sëer of the future, not of twain
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.

Still, is she lief and quaint in his eye, a sight divine?
A mistress fueled by his prest haughtiness
If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee
Belike egal as it to him might be?!

Prophetess or fond?
Though her parle of truth
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!"
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane
Sëer of the future, not of twain
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.

'Or was he an eried being
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo
Her naysay' rought his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope
She belied her own words
He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge
She held him august, yet wee
He left her ne'er without his heart.

Though her parle of truth
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!"
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane
Sëer of the future, not of twain
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.

'Or was he an eried being
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo
Her naysay' rought his heart
Her daffing was the grave of all hope

Ferie dearest, was it loe soothfast or a façade
A serenade siren'd to lure - Zounds! not to court me?
A menad, yet the sweetest colleen
Certes didst thou me unveil meekly life pristine.

Lorelei
A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death
Yet who the hell was I to dare?
Lorelei
Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?
Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?

Dedally didst thou perform the tragic pasquinade
For all years a damndest and driegh'd accolade
Caus'd for all eyes mazed to behold a mêlee
In the midst did I swainly cast thee my bouquet
The one and sole faggot that feedeth the fire
Bellow'd bidingly by my heart's quailing quire.

Lorelei
A poet of tragedies, scribe I lauds to Death
Yet who the hell was I to dare?
Lorelei
Canst thou not see thou to me needful art?
Canst thou not see the loss of loe painful is?

Perchance author I thee this ikon'd apologue for aught
Doth the wecht burthen thee?, then bethink thine afterthought
'Tween Aether and 'Nether art thou the peerless phoenix
Prithee, darlingmost! - court me rather than the peevish prolix.

Thou dawdl'd not bringing me fro Aether to Nether
Still, duringly cling I on to this heather
Dew-scented blossom; thou wast pristine
The sweven of thee ne'er will I cede, my colleen.
Drat this creature of memories ill
Foolhardy and fey I may be, yet him I shall quell.

'Vaunt! - Devil tyne
Wadst thou wane fore'ermae
Daunt - sinsyne thence
Ta'en as a dint, Angelique?

Perforce and grinningly shall I maim in the vie
Alas dastard! - hanging by the noose die.

'Vaunt! - Devil tyne
Wadst thou wane fore'ermae
Daunt - sinsyne thence
Ta'en as a dint, Angelique?

'Come not wont to this uncouth Devil!
Lest to a Devil thou wilt translate...my Angel.

'Vaunt! - Devil tyne
Wadst thou wane fore'ermae
Daunt - sinsyne thence
Ta'en as a dint, Angelique?

Parch'd of words, parch'd of lauds
Lorn and tyned fro my wame
'Seech I more perforce indeed
Lap I of thee: Thou art want.

With dulcet gust thine floret
Which I yet would not do
Pray I thee for thine avail
Lave me in it; I want more!

For my loe, not be adust.

Come see as the wind: Chant
I let thee come in
Come see as the wind, Aoede.

As of lote - upon thee dote
Lowing 'tis, true forsooth
Tisn't a tongue, nay merely mote
Thou art grandly mae than couth'
Eft and e'er doth it eke
I am what I do behold.

For my loe, not be adust.

Come see as the wind: Chant
I let thee come in
Come see as the wind, Aoede.

Haste not thine wisdom, for the hollow is ta'en
By whom, know I not; 'lack! am I of twain
And as a crux - cede I my words
Fro my heart wilt thou ne'er
Have I been 'sooth sinsyne.
Be left without - come!

Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine
Ryking for me
Ryking for thee
"List and heed", thou say'st
Wistful, whistful
Chancing to lure.
Chancing to lure
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis
Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath!

Mayhap lured by the scent of lote
'Od! - the foetid - eft hie back I mote
For what I did my soul atrounced
How I wish for thee again
O! do believe me, 'twasn't a frounce.
Will I give thee it: Troth.

Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine
Ryking for me
Ryking for thee
"List and heed", thou say'st
Wistful, whistful
Chancing to lure.
Chancing to lure
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis
Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath!

Cede the wherefores and do na chide
Maybe I am peenging - ween of joy
Cede the wherefores and do na chide
Thrawn and slab of leer I hold thee, and yore was 'gal

Riddance
Sith the one

Circa mea pectora multa sunt suspiria
De tua pulchritudine, que me ledunt misere.

Venus! - I trow'd thou wast my friend
Professed to Heaven thou wouldst send
As a disciple of a villain
Didst thou act the tragedienne.

Iam amore virginali totus ardeo.
Amor volat undique, captus est libidine.

Venus! - I trow'd thou wast my friend
Professed to Heaven thou wouldst send
As a disciple of a villain
Didst thou act the tragedienne.

Iam amore virginali totus ardeo.
Circa mea pectora multa sunt suspiria
De tua pulchritudine, que me ledunt misere.
Tui lucent oculi sicut solis radij
Sicut splendor fulguris, qui lucem donat tenebris.

Dream of a funeral, blest temptress - behest me!
A funeral thou'lt hark, swarth murderess - the Devil
Thine feral grith with me, Poppea, be Hell's hap
Waylaid the beldame bawd, the niggard: Laughing tragedy.

And the wench doth bawdness to blow
Stay my adamant
Suffer me to transfix thee
And the wench doth bawdness to blow
Let me dawt thine twain
And, twine 'hem apart.

Of marrow, do na mell; I am Morelle
The bosom'd Titivil; travail me; a fáin
Subdue me with thine lote in oneness - make haste yet
Displode me in a font - Poppea, do what thou wilt.

And the wench doth bawdness to blow
Stay my adamant
Suffer me to transfix thee
And the wench doth bawdness to blow
Let me dawt thine twain
And, twine 'hem apart.

Ado with a mean woe
An ado as aglow
Belying the paynim
Thou rewrot'st the tome
An ivy-crown'd and dancing
And fawn'd and trancing
Espying the surly wud
And heeding her not.

Celebration

Afear'd of Bacchante
And dost thou 'hold the yill?
Behind is the sleepless
Eyne 'holding na mo

Celebration

Onto the paper scribe I the words that fro my heart move
With every dight letter, with the ebb of ink
The point of the quill my penmanship doth mirror
Tales of theft and adultery
Tales of devilment and witchery

Tales of me

Celebration Bacchari

Twit me, I am thy tyke
Meekness for thee aught.

Yerk me to weal daut'
Sweven nor Muse
Wad taw me to this ruddy hue
Wark aptly my drear
'Hesting dirdum
Heyday! - a swingeing shrew.

Skelp me - gar me pain
Pray soft; tender ache.

Yerk me to weal daut'
Sweven nor Muse
Wad taw me to this ruddy hue
Wark aptly my drear
'Hesting dirdum
Heyday! - a swingeing shrew.