Oh, I am destroyed!
My soul is in uncertainty; moving about has it been,
in awesome dreariness!
I hath been like this since yesterday afternoon,
and whenever I think of that scene again,
my soul blasts with fury;
as I am naturally entitled to no right to his love,
or whatever this yearning feeling is deemed to be called.
He who in nature now belongs to someone else;
cannot stop wander aimlessly the exiled layers of my mind;
how cruel!
This is absurd indeed!
For I had kept no such desires towards him since
the very outset; no movement of his startled my *****;
no shadows of him ever shrouded my mind!
But why should I feel this envy now?
This gritting pang of jealousy,
oh, how despicable to me!
To my elegant and eloquent ****** soul,
how detestable it hath been!
Yet its infamous flame would not just burneth away;
this agonizing envy, hatred for my frantically oppressed
passion, for my inability to seal it away, forever!
Oh, how I dread to even recall
the very mention of her name: the presence of
another female creature like me,
crowned in dull whiteness, blessed in stony praise and laudation,
yet cheeky in her own very world of mirth, charm, and
indulgence. Another venerable being loved, so entirely
loved, by his *****!
How cherished and fulfilled my love would be,
if that gift hath been bestowed onto me,
I that so tenderly long for his touch, just one small
look of admiration, and I would fly!
I who can love him more fervently, and ardently
nurse him in the wreaths of this murky winter,
in my mind is this
picturesque glance
of us relating stories to each other, of our distinct life
histories, in the brisk, glittering snowy evenings!
I who can gaze at his perfection from afar, and
would still shower him with my sweetest bliss of
happiness. My fabulous, precious treasure forever!
Yet how distant is he from me now, how unreachable!
What a fortunate woman, what a foolish wretch
I am, to long for this claimed treasure! What a
poignant mistake of mine, to recognise the flawlessness
of this prince just now; whilst I hath been chanced to know
him for a series of fortnights; how ill, narrow, and
imbecile I am! How unworthy I am of him! He is
everything, and hast everything already; in his little, yet
impeccable realm - alas, I am only to celebrate the
entirety of my poetry, nothing else! My words, that shoulder and
perseveringly witness all my unspoken love for him day and night.
Nevertheless I blest thee, my love, may my grace be
with thee, thou art the sole king to whom I am
mostly devoted! Thou art the embodiment, and the
completion of my ever wildest imagination, thou art
the vivid realisation of my solitary soul! Thou art the
secondeth half of my body, thou art my blood, and my very
truest womanly essence: thou art part of my all senses and the
whole of my being.
In my bones flow thy veins; their natural greenness
melt perfectly with my remote and lonely profusion. Thou art
the first man I hath loved sinceth my initial steps
onto this foreign region, thy smile is all brighter than a very
shimmer of truth. Our short meetings procure merriment, and
delight, in my life, in the worst times of my turmoil and
devastation. Thou hath made my study days - the
hectic ones, confined to the pale shades of my books
and their anxious words - sheer and jubilant. As
astonishing as it hath been, my heart gleamed and
glowed towards thee - oh, if only thou wert free,
to entwine thy love onto mine! I would never once
hesitate to return it, I would welcome it, rejoice in it,
the most yearned, longed, missed, and sought-after
present on this idle earth! Oh, how through these decent words
I wish thou could hear, and comprehend my deepest
feelings; I love thee, not, and no longer as how a
desirous tutee should look up to her guide; but as
how a woman is bound to sincerely love a man. My heart was
crafted for thee, I wasth born for thee, and in it does thee perfectly dwell; thy most
reliable source of love, dreams, and tenderest affection.
I love no-one else but thee.
I love thee, I love thee, I love thee.

Rippled outside, and slit open the evening
Like a sword tearing the skin of a badger
Gone upon the arrival of the morning
In peace lingered out of the bedchamber

Out the young maiden walked
An angry light shines on her hand
Bright the green grass thus she trodded
Into the bland scene she blended

Like a piece of wild thunderstorm
She cried and whined and wailed
In all silence and no sounding of a horn
Tore farther afield and waited and waited

Never did her little love appear
All to her doubt and fury and dismay
And smote herself with a shady spear
Whilst the other roses bloomed, lifeless she lay.

Oh, this is why I hate love!
How I used to moon over it;
shape it and craft it and run after it
in my brambles,
how I used to indulge it in my *****
protect it from any uncivil desecration
cherish it for its wilfulness
relish it for its greed;
how I tainted my heart with its fake scent!
It just dawneth on me!
Oh how I fervently remembereth the scene; the very afternoon scene, before me:
I was heaving my dull steps against the sheepish grounds;
so peaceful in their breezy slumbers;
unlike the busy grass afield!
their dainty colours blackened by the whirring clouds from afar.
Hung cozily amongst the sky, whose childishness wasth adjourned by
the sleeping rain!
Oh but it was none yet coldeth but temperate;
when his moorish figure, blent into the naturalness of the afternoonth;
retreated into the lingering scene,
swiftly and lightly as the chirruping birdth aloft,
as if no anguish was within reach,
as wildly glistening as the mirth of the old den!
How my soul warmed towards the sight of him,
and on he went to relate his selfish story.
How I celebrated it - its giddy, gullible outset!
How I endorse its unknowing innocence!
How I adorned it with my passion!
His reclamation proceeded,
I was but astounded to hark to the rest;
into it he amorously poured the account of a bizarre creature;
namely a stranger;
invariably a woman!
How insolent!
He named her his love;
he waveth his moronic praise at hers;
at her charm, andth not mineth!
I was spurned, my heart was churned;
despite my stranded efforts to keep my pair of
relenting eyes
unblinking;
I steadied my legs, I was more than ready to
bounce and go
sway myself away from this gloomy tragedy
as before me the story undesired unfolded:
my love was repressed, my heart was
bludgeoned, heartily bludgeoned,
and I was silenced; could no longer feelth the tinges of blood
in my latent veins.
He hath slaughtered my peace!
My inner visions, hopes, and dreams!
I hath lost all of which!
I hath lost my shrieks; I could not voice my despair;
yet I could not utter my grief!
I was cursed and condemned;
my soul was appallingly dishonored;
my entirety is for lifelong anger,
desolation, ignominy and utmost desperation!
My crossness against the Creator arose,
like a wave of torment,
a surge of unbecomingth animosity,
as to no matter how I suppressed it unthinkingly,
all ended in vain:
My stern heart shan't ever melt to love again.
Oh my love, my love,
my princeth, my deviousth prince,
the only one I was so ardently fond of
how could thou deepen my misery?
How could thou ****** my sweetest virginal affection
in the midst of my isolation?
Like the sultry willows
whose memories unshaken, unbitten in the most
melodious, but pallid from the heath
in this musty, salubrious air
my blooming flowers hath died
I am brokeneth, I am torn!
I am writhing in my vainness,
my foolish longing, unmissed and unsung by the dandy branches aboveth
Dancing in my own blueness, weariness that is both livid
and unforgiving
scared by the heartless world
in the course of this barren winter.
Winter with no whiteness;
winter unholy and fulleth of diminutive, evil suffrage.
How ungodly!
I am raked into pieces;
and this is what remains.
This is my misery; oh how I could not riseth above the misery itself!
This is my solemn admonition,
this is my fate!
I have no right to love,
to embrace and to be embraced,
and from this day on I wanth but to dismiss my love;
onto my heart was bestowed not serene affection but intelligence;
and intellect is far better regarded than love!
How sully, narrow, and vicious love is!
How unimportant it is in the eyes of glory,
and the sea of fictitious admiration.
I quit the monstrousness of yon outer devastation;
I take hold of my pen,
and swim deeper into my whining words, again.

I want to taint the rose, but instead I cherish it
I want to bash the thought, but instead I relish it
I am feverish tonight
How I wish for your touch
I miss you, I miss you
Even in this unalterable delirium
Its little, unwavering sarcasm
Full of disgrace, stealth and denial
I want to rejoice it all
The merriment of yon notorious souls
I want to live the night
I want to dance out the very whole circle
Like a halo, and its listless shivering phantasm
Like a badger, in its soundless, sleepless cage
Oh I miss you
I miss you, I miss you

Querida,
I'd wished I could hold you here
amidst the splendid songs of the twilight
and the humorous singing of the sky-larks
under the harmonious untouchable blue skies.
This afternoon I beheld thy sheepish movements
pure as the rainbows, and those sparks of levity
of thy salubrious, noble soul.
Querida,
I long to have you here in my bare arms
Thinking of you is marvellous;
your soul is of nothing but the beauteous.
Querida,
I did not seem agile today
I tired my senses
I lost my airs
My breaths in wreaths
of sour demons, their petulance none but
unbecoming, hostile, and drowsy,
but thou! Thou, Querida,
thou breathed again life in steady beats
just like the swords of the lingering sun
until my heart warmed, and bloomed as the plump spring cherries
rosy and windblown in a genial way:
thou art my soul, my hopes,
thou art the knight to my battle lights;
thou art the king to my dry sights;
thou art the owner of my dreams
thou art the loveliest love of my every day.

To a passer-by
Whose eyes are as blue as the sky
whose grief is maddened, whose cries are silenced
but whose joys are quenching;
The hiding sun is on your lips
As beguiling as the sky-lark's song:
thy movement left me fainting and murmuring all along!
That roaring sea of blueness - glistening in the wintry throng;
endless and limitless in its own fieriness, which thy gracefully bestowed upon me!
And the bronze of thy hair, thy smooth, cloudless hair!
How unsorted this gleefulness is, upon harking to thy voices!
Yet shadowed by the fitful trees,
Murky is their grin, greedy is their rind
Oh then how I had to leave thee; for the slim but fleeting rain!
No, how I longed for thee, thee with me!
Oh the dear, dear love of my life! How sought is thy presence, how cherished it is in my fair chest!
Had I then to relent,
I sprang from my lavished comfort, I retreated to my creaking den
And wanly blent myself into the scenes, again.

This love I canna bear it,
It cheats me night and day;
This love I canna wear it,
It sins my heart and soul away.

This love was once a bud
A lovely seed; a peeping thorn;
This love was once untouched
Light as the night; lithe as the morn.

This love it was a flower
Like a secret unknown to me,
Like a dream in a tame hour
Like a bird's nest within a tree.

This love, was a childhood
Warm as the sun, vain as the moon.
This love, was plain and blind
Now blossoms wild, hear its cheers mild.