O, why but I am like t'is! Hath I, since t'at last sober night,
as th' wan, dull clouds crept nearby, been bequeathing
tragic, credulous insecurity to myself. Like t'at frail moonbeam
disturbed by starless rain! And a turbulent voyage
didst I take, alongst my dreary sleep, into th' grounds
of scythed lands-full of horror, nightmarish leaps,
and dire-some terrors. Why didst I do so! I hath come, to comprehend
not, why t'is turbulence of brave grossness seemeth like nothing else
but perniciously irredeemable, as though I accidentally, or even
consecutively-inflicted it, without the wakeful knowingst
of my brains. Indecipherable! T'is vacant delirium of mockery, and its abysmal hearth
inside-set alight by invisible flames-torches of hell, and gruesome
shrugs of untimely malevolence. Insatiable deployment, indeed! How
miraculous it would be, should I be free from t'is inconvenience
in th' course of some upcoming days, but still, doth I hope so!
Waggish remarks, jests, and playful turns of ancient riddling-
areth but exchanged outside, with airs so snobbish, from t'ose
pampered youngeth dames, blind to t'eir silenced world's grievous
suffering, and laborous perspiration. How unfair t'eir fiendish hearts areth-
once and againeth-sneering at th' pure, stoical beds of t'ose airy rivers,
andth t'eir dim solitude, with t'ose rings of presumptuous laughter!
Spaciousness in its holy sphere, untouched by th' turmoil t'at lingers on it
surface, neither driven away nor shaken by ungratefulness. Toil
improperly apprehended! And insulted as it might become, tenderness
shalt it leave behind, insolence but be crafted along th' insidious rims
of its face. Marvelous in wild ways! Wild, devilish ways! And unwatched
by th' stomping blokes on its visage, shalt it rise, rise like an unforgiving
tidal wave, soulless in its aliveness, blighting and scratching
t'eir shoulders, with blades unmarred-dormant powers t'at ought not
to be ignored by seconds t'at feebly tick away. And t'eir ends
shalt 'ey meet, granted liberally by t'eir
deliberate neglect, and repulsive indulgence.

In th' nothingness of aggravation I am but naturally not a hard-hearted creature,
too of a stony appearance I possess not-intimate and even, t'at should be how
my being is paraphrased mercifully! With t'ose perpetual-and even limitless-
replenishing jewels of ardour, flawed only by harmless faults, I would consider myself treasured
by nature, o t'at precious creature whom hath so adorably vouchsafed t'is
spring-like life to me; warmth can I gratefully feel in t'is winter every day,
in my prayers, studies, and amongst t'ose invigorating fits
of my daily perambulations. How truthful, aye t'is confession is made! As I am
but a pious, sanctified child, ye' in spite of being a humaneth as I am, a snake is bound
to dwell within my *****, asleep in its quiet slumbers, unawakened so long
as I unbetray my redolent virtues.
But last night! How nigh my soul from t'at anxious burst of agitation,
melancholiness so undesired but abruptly avenged my silence. My indulgent
silence! Th' one frame of my unresting mind t'at I so fastidiously preserved!
Hatred encountered my countenance, and bifurcated my ******
dispositions; flew into anger then I-so sudden as gripped my soul was
by paths of hostility sent onto me-overwhelmed by t'is ineloquent treatment,
howled in despair, and agony was all I felt within my cheerless heart-
until everything amounted into a blurry shadow-insignificant as it was,
but th' fraud was still t'ere-stupefying desire, so ardent within th' leaves
of my conscience, to slaughter even th' most innocent skins-
'till no more breath t'ey shalt but gasp for. And triumph shalt I procure,
ascendancy shalt be painted onto my palms, and opulent pride shalt I be
endowed with, so unlike all t'is hateful remorse, and slithering chastisement!
Amongst t'ose seas of disillusionment; whilst frowning in desperation-combusting
all t'ose wretched spirits wert all I wasth but able to think of;
and all I conjectured wert proven worthy of my thoughts. Inevitable! Entrenched
was its root-t'is flourishing tiny devil on my inner self, as it is-'till th' morning but
retreated and vanquished t'is gust of little hell, which had decoyed me
and my lithe genuineness like a trivial shell.

O dear! My flawless prince, hath thou but thoroughly gone from me?
Still, a painting of thy kiss roam silently th' rooms of my heart. Now scanty
as to emptiness, roaring fussily as to loneliness, for thy being unhere!
Distorted hath been now its breaths-adored only by groans
of misery-like caprices t'at laid unwanted, abhorred by t'eir masters-
for t'eir yesterday's pricelessness, and valuable crowns! How ungrateful masters,
my dear! And how t'eir proceedings shalt recall
t'ose pristine shines, yes, my dear, (of my golden gems) t'at areth gone,
with unsounding returns t'at are unexplainable, and too unattainable-
and shalt remain dim be t'eir whereabouts, amongst t'ese winds
of fervent, but sultry days. O, come back, my love, come back to my arms,
and hate me not, for my threads are woven alongst thy charms-
ah, t'ose threads of life, of soulfulness, and unabashed mortality!
Clashes of feelings, emotions, and mutual usurpation
of endless infatuation. Chaste, and unimpure, passion! Yes, yes, my love-
t'at's how we ou't 'a be, next to t' fireside, lulling each ot'er to sleep,
and welcoming t'ose night dreams with hearts so dear, lullabies
so near to our ears, of t'at unwavering breaths of passion, and unchangeable
affection, for th' rest of our lives! Leave me not-once more, but stay hereth
with me, and make me forgive
and forget cheerethfully t'is seditious, thoughtless, but most of all
irresolute conflagration.

Layers of snow, layers of hate
Disdain that no-one should create.
Belied by falsehood and fake kings
Like birds that wounded their own wings.

My prince, my prince, where might thou be?
Bring th' poems thou want to tell me!
At this trivial, dark hour
When asleep are, leaves and flowers.

Strange why I keep calling thy name
As I've not thought of thee before.
Like blue starlight, chilly and damp,
like red moonlight, surly and sore.

I keep your picture in a frame
So in my heart shall dwell your name
Your smile is brighter than summers
Your love is dearer than flowers
But what is it you'll tell me now?
Please let me know please show me how
To be your only dear princess
And the envied future mistress

I smile to myself on your thought
Dancing about in my best frock
Want to meet you now and again
Try forgetting you but in vain
I keep glancing at the cold dew
Hoping you to bounce into view
Rob me of this grim loveless blue
And say to me your love is true

I keep gazing at the mirror
As the snow starts to drop faster
Writing poems of you in my book
I'm the duchess and you're the duke
I imagine our fairylands
With gems and treasures in our hands
With endless love and affection
That is our last destination

I think smilingly to myself
As I devour by my bookshelf
Old story of a warrior
Saving his princess from terrors
I chuckle quietly in my room
Melodies I begin to hum
That I love you and only you
But shy to admit that it's true

I supplicate throughout the day
So that you could hear what I say
And how I hope you'd always stay
Paint my days sweet, rosy, and gay
I pray that God could send you here
The one whom to my heart's so near
By whose side I'd feel no more fear
By whose love there'd be no more tear.

And t'ere I stood, still as a statue,
fascinated more, and againeth -- at th' light
t'at streamed naughtily from th' sea of
thy eyes -- which t'is time resembled t'ose vivid rays
of th' harvest moon. My love, my love! Come to me
but once more, so t'at I could cherish thee,
tenderly and warmingly,
in my arms.

Look far at th' showering rain!
Dull and gray it is with old pain,
and how nature now shrieks in vain-
until no more cloud but remains.

How t'is misty day shalt insist;
and too tempest'ous to desist.
But how thy lithe feet shalt still dance!-
And doth entrance everyone's glance.

Antonina, Antonina
Sweet and graceful ballerina
Spin and spin again like a swan;
in circles t'at'll never be done

Antonina, Antonina
Who shalt but know thy darkest fear?
With t'ose movements t'at seem so dear
but no-one sees thee by eyes clear.

Th' night I saw thee walk by home
Passed thou th' yard and hollow tombs
A golden trophy's in thy hand
Whereth suddenly in sprang some men.

What merciless, heartless creatures!
Thy ****** body t'ey ruptured!
And escaped 'em when all was done
Wept thou amongst t'ose leaves alone.

Amidst trees and grim foliage
I smelt th' foulness of plain rage;
Forward dashed I into th' screen!
Blood on thy thighs, bruised wasth thy skin!

I stood still at t'is pure menace;
thou spread t'ere like a brutal mess!
Screamed and wailed in a hasty blaze;
upon thy gazeth onto my face.

I shuddered with blasts of fury!
As I thought of t'eir cruelty!
T'ose ungrateful sons of evil
T'eir souls'd be ****** in great peril.

I walked thy little body home-
and kept thy by the fireside warm.
How in my arms thy'rt once conscious
With t'ose eyes big and curious.

Thou looked at me, thou questioned me
I just nodded and smiled gently
How I wanted to run in shame
Afraid thou might then knoweth my name

And how thou crashed to sleep once more
As soon as we opened the door
How I kissed thy warm and bruised forehead;
and thy drying tears didst I shed

Antonina, Antonina
Never did thou know my daydreams
How t'at tragic night they came true
In t'is cru'l world thou'rt th' victim
When th' stars sleep in a light hue

Antonina, Antonina
T'is passion shalt never be real
As thou'd never know how I feel
Thy childhood and thy faithful friend
With loveth you wisheth from 'ot'er man.

But how in thy smile now thou weepeth!
After such a mis'ry so deep!
How he's gone to tie his wedlock
When th' sun but strikes twelve o'clock.

How he left thee after t'at night!
And ran away with grief and fright.
Th' youngeth maiden he wasth to wed,
but in her woes then he just fled!

Antonina, Antonina
Unanswer't as my prayer is
I shalt but free thee from all t'is;
when thou conquereth thy memories.

Let me be thy chin and shoulder;
let me bringst thee'th truest wonder.
I who loveth thee just thou art now;
and relieveth thee from thy sorrow.

But a spectator as I am,
can I just watch thy pristine fame!
From th' stage art thou now to smile,
as people sound 'plause for a while.

And in thy sorrow wilt thou weep
Until blushing dawn slowly creeps.
No-one comforts thee in thy sleep;
no-one frees thee from thy hardship!

But unworthy as here I am
Like a flower without its stem
Can I wish you joy, my lady!
And only joyeth I prayeth for thee.

Pure still thou art, Antonina!
Thy stateliness shalt never die;
not even if th' world could lie
Thou'rt as lovely as th' rainbow
T'at I'll long to see tomorrow.

Blest be thy days, Antonina!
Thou'rt still my queen but here and now
As th' snow melts and sun hangs low
As winter breaks and summer comes
'Tis still thee I want in my arms.

Oh, I know not!
I see not, and master not!
Why t'is caprice - t'is tender whim, is unwilling
to unveil my soul, conquering it with
mounds and plates of rapturous
yet canonical attention. How I dread
such falsehood! Strong, strong falsehood!
What an inconsiderate urgency! A matter, matter of the heart -
as mighty as it probably is, of its own accord! How serious
t'is would be! I am suffrage; and akin to its vigour areth my laugh,
and joy - I would be hatred if none cameth to stop my pace;
my frosty haze; and t'is gruesome maze! Yes, I would but be,
in th' length of some furt'er days!
I shalt no more be of t'is delight, and clustered inside my gloom,
pressed to th' walls of dainty loom; from which I shalt never
be comely enough to be granted an escape.
How terrifying t'ose scenes areth, to me! A poet as I am,
unenviable is my littleness, and humility; to t'ose who glare with jealousy
at pangs of my laughter, and childlike demands - as how t'ey always
chastised during t'eir coincidental encounters. But I am blessed!
I am blessed by my words - and t'ese cheerful, yet unending poems -
as unlike t'em I am, ungrateful and vile beings, flocking to th' church
only for th' sake of brand-new dowry, and enforced blessings.
Murderers of peace! Sons and daughters of vice! But I am convinced
t'at virtue shalt forever tower over t'em; and in th' right time t'ey shalt
be pulled off t'eir horses, and unedifying pleasantry. And goodness
shalt t'en win! For truth never bears t'eir unfaithful boasts, just like
it hates t'eir dishonesty; which so insistingly frosts me
with atrocity within 'tis lungs, and so soon as doth it start to cling stronger -
abashed shalt I be! Incarcerated shalt be my front, and dutiful
countenance - in t'at gross conflagration with secular flatness,
hesitations, and worldly doubts, in which yon grotesque salutation, corroborating
'tis assailed countenance, gouty and drained by rightful mockery;
comes but to avenge my love, my wondrous love -
which yesterday was dazzling and dripping fast
but contentiously, like a ripe cherry. Like a small burst of wine
craved by scholarly epicures, t'is feeling but anonymously grips
my lips, trembles my heart, and distracts my limbs;
should I be to think of thee, I shan't but be away
from t'is nauseatedness, of regrets, again! My thee, my thee,
areth thou truly gazing at me from afar? With fascination in thy stares,
wilt thou bestow me such destiny I hath been so desirous of - my dear?
And with thy serene, bulbous eyes - t'at sea of blackness
basked in marred turmoil - ah, a sign but of peace after such fire! - wilt thou
mould thy mind, thy stony mind, like a black-painted rose,
to throw at my being, just one, voluntary glance?
I am but anxious, my love, how I shake all over
with unreturned passion like t'is, my blood is circling
in distorting, yet irrepressible agitation.
How I wish t'at thou could be here, and rendereth me safe, in solely
but thy arms, my love! And shalt thou be my giddy knight - I entreat!
In my unmothered dreams, and t'eir precocious brambles - on t'ose journeys
of loom, doth I fear not, for thou shalt be t'ere to mirthfully comfort me.
And off shalt I fly again, to greet th' thoughtful morning!
But ought I to leaveth my dreams now; for thou canst be here to celebrate
t'is snowy day, and lift me onto triumph! And how I wisheth to cast away
t'is imprisonment, how I longeth for but thee here - just thee, remember t'at,
o but hark to my swift whisper, t'at calls only for thy name, my love!
How aggravated, and corrupted my conscience wilt be -
within th' membranes of my brain; t'eir hardship is severed by thy unpresence.
My love, o my restrained - single love, t'is ode that lights my soul
shalt illuminate thine; and 'tis long words - threads woven along
an abstracted lullaby, and vanquished by silent accusations, from thy, thy mouth!
A well t'at is perilous in its standing - standing like a torch, unruptured
albeit neglected, innocent in 'tis acute forlornness. Poor misery!
Hark, hark, my love - how t'ose dames, irresolute in t'eir volatility, and
charms of miraculous beauty - but tumultous inside, entranced by fear
of losing which, as so graciously raved and ranted all over th' year!
Th' dreary years - which th' above phrase caused me to be well-reminded,
and duly recall how t'eir sickening remorse tossed me around; and decreed
my jests of dread, sickness, and disdain - surges, and waves of animosity
wert but all about me. But how they areth happening again! Amongst th' snow -
running about as t'ey art, t'ose heartless, indignant creatures -
blind to th' tenderness of nature, bland and untouched by its shrieks, and
flickering toil! How I wish to save it, but incapable as I am - a minuscule shadow
of early womanhood t'at I own, I choose to stay distant,
and pray for t'eir impossible atonement, somehow, before t'ey entereth
t'eir silent graves. How t'ose ghosts of malice areth in no way acquainted
with th' woes of th' churchyard, and th' grimness of death - I declare!
How unafraid t'ey are, sacrificing t'is coherent life for such courses
of abomination. Victories upon th' misery of others,
dances to mourning songs, how evil! But I wish for t'eir salvation,
for t'ey art unable to even salve t'eir poor selves. I shalt be fervent
in my generosity, for 'tis th' most rewarding part of humanity;
I shalt be but a faithful servant to my innocuous nature. I adoreth my nature
just the way 'tis, and I shalt build its madly-scarred way back; with tons
of brightness, care, and hearty bliss! Yes, my love, my bliss - which inhabits
th' entire space of my maturity and unmolested passion. Inapprehensible as it is,
I am but to win its grace, and t'erefore thee - just as I hath so ardently dreameth of -
as heretofore, and shalt thou but be saluted and fended for
by my, my sincere and unbinding, affection.

I love him, I love him
Those are the words I can no more deny
I love him, I love him
My soul fights them; yet my heart rejoices in them
They are the veins, lungs and living blood
of my sky;
they are the mirth of my night; merit of my poems;
and conscience to my being.

I loved him yesterday;
As the warm clouds came to greet me night and day
I love him today;
With feelings that might just be too hard to say
And I'll love him tomorrow;
Where my breath will be bathed in chilly piles of snow

Then I'll love him endlessly
As long as I breathe; and my senses are but awake
When all the other lovers are fake!
My life is for him solely to take;
and my love born for him to make.
He whose charms are real, benign and tender
He who is my destiny and truest wonder
I loved him last night, this morning, and again
Beneath the fierce stars and the deep showering rain
I loved him that day, but still I love him now;
and amongst our young, bountiful grace
just like here and now; I shall but love him forever.