First in bombastic burst of a scent,
Colours from these winds heaven had sent.
A lift in my head with these winds in your hair;
Our old magic (trickless) springs a hatless hare,
Faultless as firmament spins a perfect rose.
Colours that can thin any illusion, in our music rose-
Whirling where euphony may curse thorns and pains.
Worst is how these colours stain clear window panes,
Where darkness had deftly set how fire rules awe!
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
First in bombastic burst of a scent,
Colours from these winds heaven had sent.
A lift in my head with these winds in your hair;
Our old magic (trickless) springs a hatless hare,
Faultless as firmament spins a perfect rose.
Colours that can thin any illusion, in our music rose-
Whirling where euphony may curse thorns and pains.
Worst is how these colours stain clear window panes,
Where darkness had deftly set how fire rules awe!