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ormondPoems
On that western isle, bathed in gold- Drenching sun, my only, giddy love, Weaved a daisy chain and crowned  Herself, above the clouds and purple- Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow- Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,  Soon, after new mornings impromptu  Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate, The inevitable nights of overthrowing And fade of love's noble, corona light. Were I shaper of dream, I would build A grand labyrinthian castle of granite  Stone to contain that day—  I would  Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting  Time, the mute corruption of sorrows  Waking.
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Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:26 PM UTC
Princess of Aran
On that western isle, bathed in gold- Drenching sun, my only, giddy love, Weaved a daisy chain and crowned  Herself, above the clouds and purple- Violet seas, her grace, topping yellow- Sparkled weeds, to flower, marching In fealty, round her red, reign of crown,  Soon, after new mornings impromptu  Coronation, misty, bluer, eyes felt slow Distant dread, the subtle, burning fate, The inevitable nights of overthrowing And fade of love's noble, corona light. Were I shaper of dream, I would build A grand labyrinthian castle of granite  Stone to contain that day—  I would  Conjure a moat, impervious to shifting  Time, the mute corruption of sorrows  Waking.
ormond
Written by
ormond
Irish
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:26 PM UTC
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