‘Tis I, your Bee, whom graciously implores your thanks,
In which your sweet vision resides within my memory.
A pure star twinkling bright as any of those fiery lamps,
And with delicate tongue I write to you, my muse Emily,
For my wearied creative air, your gentle breath revamps.
‘Twas in heaven where I believed sole divinity dwelt,
Until my eyes welcomed waves lap upon their shore;
Never have my veins flowed as swift nor my heart felt,
A blazing white beauty my caress does wish to explore,
And the world spins here with sense as not like before.
While the clouds grow tall from horizons distant blue belt,
On the eastern wind, my every kiss is blown to your door.
Toward the sky I often gift a raised brow and humbly thank,
For all moments of your true pleasure in which I gladly drank.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 9:15 AM UTC
‘Tis I, your Bee, whom graciously implores your thanks,
In which your sweet vision resides within my memory.
A pure star twinkling bright as any of those fiery lamps,
And with delicate tongue I write to you, my muse Emily,
For my wearied creative air, your gentle breath revamps.
‘Twas in heaven where I believed sole divinity dwelt,
Until my eyes welcomed waves lap upon their shore;
Never have my veins flowed as swift nor my heart felt,
A blazing white beauty my caress does wish to explore,
And the world spins here with sense as not like before.
While the clouds grow tall from horizons distant blue belt,
On the eastern wind, my every kiss is blown to your door.
Toward the sky I often gift a raised brow and humbly thank,
For all moments of your true pleasure in which I gladly drank.
