I am the helpless, wingéd fly whose thirst
For nectar draws me close to your steel cell
Where once imprisoned, death drapes me; the first
I’m not to fall before your binding spell.
For many men in vain your kiss pursued
But sadly, your false kiss bore life’s mishap
With slumberous poison in your chasms brewed
You marred their hearts for you’re the Venus trap,
The beast whose luring nectars lovers draw,
Tormentor whose first weapon is your sweets,
Whose second is the power of your jaw,
And all the poison that your heart secretes!
Of your dark deeds, to others, I’ll impart
So they won’t be allured to your black heart!
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
Your kiss is sweet enough to quench my thirst,
My hunger, and the flames of my esteems,
But when time comes when your sweet lips are pursed
Such love bears forth a vault of wilted dreams.
Coy mistress, be such bashful fancy crime,
Love shall imprison you in shackles, drear
But why ‘pend on your lips and their sweet clime
When in you dwells an aspect, more so fair?
Must I pursue instead love by the core,
And not by sweetness of the outer shell?
Aye, hungering solely by your lips no more
I must myself and all my thirst compel!
Why must I lead to kiss the lips of you
Thus make what love I’ve taken to be true?
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
My heart now aches with sleepy dreariness:
A dreamy wake from whose dull, soothing spell
I can’t awake, nor can I sleep to bless
My dreams with profound ecstasy as well
For all recurring visions, sweet and deep,
Have turnéd to a black and empty void,
And all the stepping stones of pale night
Are clouded by the mists of murky sleep,
Bedewed with memories that I enjoyed:
The visions with which I can’t reunite.
My mind now pines for all those moments when
Endured had love and bliss before slow time
Had bound such moments once and then again
Shall bind more dreams and memories, sublime
Oh, vista of my dreams, unseen, unheard
Your brow is laid with shawls of quietness
Your pinions are held tight with the chain
Of all my visions; fly then, flame-plumed bird
And sing such sacred song you can’t express
Once I now free you from my wilting brain
My tears are of ripe joy and bliss’s ruth
And though my days are thus outright expelled
I shall keep in my core, the flames of youth
Which once I had in early years, beheld
Sweet memories, ye shaking leaves, adieu
I bid you well in winter and in spring
A-flickering before fate’s icy breath
And though, no longer, shall I see all you
I’m glad you flew upon nostalgia’s wing
And warméd my cold heart before my death
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Swift bee, the gilded messenger of bliss,
Begirt with golden stars of Heaven’s span,
What draws you to the clover’s gentle kiss?
Sweet nectars, that the strongest drinker can
Carouse with dreams and dizzy waves of sleep,
Or mocks the freshest breath of summer’s clime?
Swift bee, a flame-plumed star of black and gold,
Why do you with your mouth, completely reap
The liquors that each golden bud does hold,
And lulls with somnolence the might of time?
Oh, bee, you spread the tufted pollen clouds
Like nebulae of opal stars crossways
The delicate, soft digitalis crowds,
Which passionately garner sunbeam rays
Within their coral shells. I can’t express
How much your toil’s worth to coming spring,
And how so passioned glide your wings around
The purple, gentle harebell’s loosened dress,
And make, through pretty hums, spring’s hopeful sound
Oft too profaned by your most fearsome sting!
Oh, pretty hummer! Hearty worker! Bee!
I see you roaming round the garden’s bend,
Where sweet, white daisies wreathe a canopy,
And make you but a hearty, cheerful friend.
Swift bee, the aching, swollen heart of mine
Desires comfort where pain knows no ruth
The buds hold, like rich garners golden grain,
Ambrosia of the gods, dream’s honeyed wine
So bring and let dear bee, such moisture stain
My lips and warm my heart with spring’s bright youth!
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Sweet love, if death’s black net my mind shall cover
And drape with doubly twining nets my heart,
Be not the one to weep and cry, dear lover
For never shall I from your essence, part.
When you shall to your chambered bed, retire,
I shall bear my embalming pinions
Above your crest, so that when you shall tire,
You’ll safely roam in dream’s dominions.
When you shall wake before the morning’s charms,
And bear upon your brain, renewéd thought,
I shall enwrap you with my tender arms,
Although you’ll feel them as the air and not
As mortal flesh, but some unearthly ether,
For, love, in life and death we’ll stay together.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
The vast sapphire nebulae of space,
All rising o’er in zeniths of sweet dreams,
Feed all the leas and all the murm’rous streams
With folds on cloudy folds of moonbeam rays.
Whene’er I look within the lake’s clear face,
I see each high aurora, which then gleams,
Caroused with Heaven’s soft and dewy beams,
Which flicker in a thick and splendid haze.
I see the moon, upon the whole world gaze
And all the stars which skies with their souls trace,
Glide, trembling in some waters’ ebbing grace
With some unearthly music, so it seems.
Oh, as I sit before the pale light
Of stars, I sigh and dream of sacred bliss,
And tuck myself in Heaven’s chrysalis,
I feel as if such place is more than night…
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Give me my pen and feed my heart with muse,
And I shall write until the night transforms
Into the morning, when the earth imbues
And quakes with spirits of the sleeping worms.
I’ll glean as gleans a reaper golden grain
Sweet dreams, which with some mystic magic swell
And set my spirit and my burdened brain
Free from the fleshy temples of their cell.
My quill would spill sweet words as if it’s dew
Or some ambrosial nectar from a fount
In Heaven’s reign. My tongue shall throb anew
With gilded glory. Evermore I’ll mount
Into the cloudless climes of deep midníght
Just give me paper and the will to write!
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
Oh, faery finch, whose golden form does climb
Athwart the starry bays of poesies, sweet,
I hear your voice, and drown in slumber’s clime,
As I sit, pond’ring in my woolen seat.
My quill spills no sweet word or sweeter song,
For my heart such cloyed passions cannot game,
And doubly more lies speechless my sore tongue,
And triply even more, my soul’s the same.
As hours pass, upon these pages, bare
I stare as if no passion stirs to fly.
To mount into Eutrepe’s mystic lair
I couldn’t, ‘till your tender lullaby
Had touched my ear, and from my breast awoke
Some passioned fire, hearing such sweet voice.
Of Heaven’s bells and Heaven’s harps. Out spoke
Your lilting charms which, magically employs
All of the Muse’s finest strengths and spells:
Eutrepe’s mystic hymn, Erato’s grace
And Calliope’s trance which softly swells
In finest verse, and in such verse does trace
Vast time. Oh, finch, were it not for your song
Nor for you visiting me, worn with age
No words would spill from out my stricken tongue
And writ wouldn’t be to you, my own homáge.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Down through the Alps, immortal, standing high
Whose feathers are the clouds of passing days
And whose sweet bosoms touch the milky sky
And whose faint breaths birth thick and gentle haze;
Upon the hills and valleys, laced with white
And brushed by bonnets of the passing clouds
There is beneath the mounts, a lovely sight:
Which please all mortal eyes: soft daisy crowds.
Of all unearthly, flowery June treasure
Of all the decors and bouquets of spring
Perchance, the fairest, by all equal measure
Yon daisies, in the moist glades, lingering
And there where such soft blossoms dance and play
Are you and I upon a summer day
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
If Fall shall rob fair summer of her boon,
And steal the gloried rays of her gold sun,
And dreamy essence of her calming moon,
Whose beams across the Heaven’s bowers run,
And all her sweets, her candied charms and spells,
And all the finest beauty of her store,
Then days shall come, in which Cronus compels
Fall to make grander all that summer bore:
To make the sunshine doubly gold and bud
Much sweeter, golden blossoms, and then birth
Much fairer fruits, rich with sweet, temp’rate blood
And feed with triply fresher dew the earth,
And pave the roads with golden folds of wheat
And piled gourd, and hang the trees with leaves,
And spread with posy flame the glades where meet
The murm’ring brooks, and where the sunshine weaves
Its silk of light across the morning skies,
And all the flowered bowers with sweet breath.
Aye, even if the summer clime soon dies
The Fall shall wreathe a beauty of its death.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC