Ah! T'is passioned feeling is far too strange
but too capricious like a nearby Grange.
And as it groweth, so every day
It swelleth more white and sweet t'an t'ey.
Refining thy stories on my page
Like a humble bird hanging in one's cage.
Or crafting thee in my poetry
So t'at thy joy remaineth by me.
T'ere at my feet shalt thou be laid,
of purest Alabaster made;
Like pale chords sung in a queer haze
and of fine purple t'reads of taste.

Find it, my love, awestruck before very thine Eyes
and marv'l at it behind such lies.
'Till my fierce heart thou leaveth despaired
and laid still against crimson stairs.
Of honesty hath with greed it sworn
For all pride and cleanness since it was born.
Scents of mad sweat, grey stains of blood;
two natures t'at flourish apart.
O, revel, revel just once more my soul!
Alt'ough w'ose dreams might be as murky and foul
Upon our Roses t'ey would dare to feed;
until t'eir evil lips ev'n seem'd to bleed.

Under th' breeze of our morns
Our planet of love was oft'ntimes torn.
Venturing to find thee, thou th' light my heart wants
To faint in thy light, on a bed of daffodil sky
Along th' excited moors, thou th' beat for it ever yearns
And to be slayed in thy eyes, before I end and die.
For in death our grief be lightened;
and shalt; t'is pertaining love be brightened.
But found thee I not, and thus shrank and wailed
As one soulful music t'at might hath failed
I hate t'is eternal raucous spring
and all th' rampage its tears are bound to sing.

Fie, fie, o my poor heart and regret;
For thou shalt know not t'ese trusts I shed.
Ah! How credulous t'ose tunes-violin and trumpet,
and innocent and brisk as thy cheeks went red.
Life is caring but full of random jests;
and within which floweth by; our demure river of tests.
Light, light t'at t'ose heavens should bear and carry
Whilst teasing us with all its grimness and worry.
Oh! Peace and doom and love are grey
Like t'is rhythm was sometimes found too strong to say;
Clap, clap, to th' dance which forth t'ey didst
In a horror of mirth, but in all too defiant a merry wit.

O my love, but once more giveth to me a life
from only thy sincerest breath;
And render all t'ese ages sweet and mad
Sending our hearts just at once leap and fret
meanwhile as immortal and brief as death.
But I shalt die not, for t'ere is more love;
To life in death t'an whatever t'ere was
Spilt t'ereby stunningly for me,
under t'ose keen nightly groves;
And in its eternal life should last
Teach me how to fight t'ese undying wrongs
of loving thee; as be writt'n in our dear songs.