Ah, and t'is young, young snow!
Encap but my soul with thy witty love-
as th' dim sun hangs thin and low
with feelings torn into tiny drops!
O, what an eternal whiteness thou art,
blessed in thy very ardour and at heart,
a picturesque view to my solitariness,
andeth how heaven-like thou looketh,
in t'is windy afternoon starlight-
far, yet delicate just as thou very art,
like tunes proposed by th' songstress,
and free but wild as they'th always been-
to my indeedst, pleasurable senses!

And oh, how fatal imagery is in thy eye-
which all th' blueness, and all fierceness
from our hollow yesterday!
With tongues of icy cold-fire
thou caressed me and asked me why
until my time was even thy own time,
and my fate was sealed in thy hands
as I wrote t'is poem within my den.
Ah, how thou consoled but ***** me
with thy beautiful yet glorious ignominy-
just like a vain chord of hardness;
thou corrupted me now and again,
making me stick to my black pen
and think but of thy thoughtful rain.
I dreamed of love, I dreamed of hate,
but kept I returning to a name
t'at my ***** first refused to create;
and bizarrely it was a morbid shame
t'at I, my snow, could still not let it go
and wander alone into thy blows
once and again, back and forth
as how I knew it would suffer, and die
just like an abandoned little lie.
And am afraid it shalt stay there
with its innocence, so rosy and bare
Yet perfect and gleaming with flair
and a hoary light to my heart so fair
and with which to be a perfect pair.

Ah, relieve, relieve me of t'is sheer nonsense!
Like a little dome, I am high now but unsure;
of t'is choice t'at's so inane but pure.
My snow, my snow, shalt thou show me
ways in which I am to catch my destiny?
And be guide to all my radiant tears-
show me what masks I might needst wear
and the better ornaments to be in my hair.
Be moonlight to my cheeks and make up
but doth tell me whenst I ought to stop.
And love, love, love, how I long for 't,
as I soweth t'ese stranded days bit by bit.

And ah! Drain me again of my conscience
by thy lightness and tactful defiance.
Teach me, teach me to forget 'im
and all sorrow t'at infantile may seem.
But wake, wake again and further trust
all th' thoughts and membranes of my blood.
And bringst here but my love to me,
just as I have relied my secrets on thee.

Oh my dearest fresh, fresh snow!
Full of wisdom as thou art now
Ah, but t'is time just let me know-
to greet him and flatter him how.
As aggravated I hath been here in solitude
and my ragged soul-how sore and mute!
But now, just now I shalt trust in thee
To walk and seat him beside me
So no longer am torn in liberty-
and despaired just like all my poetry,
with lights t'at might have lit,
but died soon I started to writ.

And yet, these feelings can never be wrong
for it is as tantalising as a melodious song.
A superfluous need urges my limp heart to ****
And thy picture shalt I curse towards infinite ill.
I pray thee sigh not, speak not, and draw no breath;
let fire burn down, and dream it is not death.
I figure my love could **** thee; yet I am satiated
with seeing thee live, beside me and next to the dead.
I would praise thy body as sweet fruit to eat
and some serpent's mouth would find thee sweet.
I would find grievous ways to have thee slain
in amorous agonies and superfluous pain.
I would kiss away the glories of thy day and night
and creep into thy joy terrific torches of fright.

I am weary of all thy words and reluctant wrath;
I am devoted to thy dumb tunes and semitones of breath.
Like a fool besotted with thy soft and strange ways
Or a horse splattered in blood before the deer it chases.
Of all love's fiery nights and imaginary contours
I shalt cherish the remembrance of thy kisses and hours.
Thy shuddering lips make my heart fly away blind
and water my mouth like evening ale and fruity wine.
Thy golden hair sends my spines shivering
and my whole conscience, wanting touches, whining.
Ah, thou art more to me than all other men at heart,
becoming and full of decorous and monstrous art.
Thy amorous girdle, and flocks of thee and thy fair
Just like the unseen lilies cloven through thy hair.

Nay, sweet, for art thou God alone?
To whom I pray all night and morn,
and as thy wrath filled me with warmth
and thy remorse still rocked me away with charms.
Ah, loveliest as thou art among the chuckling grass
Like a young bud of rose betwixt its eager mass.
Hath thou made t'is earth and all centuries of the sea,
and knitted all the finest natures so fresh and free?
Taught the skies ways to marvel, every pore of beauty
and charmed my very secrets of virginity inside me.
Ah, and lulled the sun to its sleep at the lapses of dawn
before retreating back into thy heaven and divine lawn.
Crafted stars as feet for adorable morning dew
and replenishing every day so all are bright and new.

And thus my very soul is bound to thee,
holier than every branch of the exalted fir tree
Then every tear that thou might shed shalt be replaced
With my tempting kiss and its vibration and new taste.
For now thy spring of leaves is all safe but barren
Betrayed by its own snobbish and rueful garment
And thy blood streams are pricked away by agony
Hurt painfully by her contentment and gluttony
But let me save thee and clap those fears away
Then by thee forever I shalt duly stay
For thee shalt I give the kingdom of my soul
and the very mirror to its astounded wall
And wrap me around and over and under me
Thy thick blessedness and insuperable sea.

A sweet, what a sweet dream it was
Wherein thou kissed me just like in the past
Among the cynical; yet boyishly handsome rain
A miracle was happening over and over again.

And I didst curse, curse the perilous morning
That rolled in with its chilliest epithet!
Within there hearts it is but dark and unbecoming,
the worst tears human minds shalt ever shed.

But how it kept coming, tumbling down-
onto my screeching night and dawn.
Now finally all have dwindled away,
and back I am; on this sunny, lonely day.

Another funny, funny poem!
About a boy; childish and dumb.
One evening on his way back home
As he passed a yard full of worms.

His skin may be shiny and fair;
his hair may be dark as the air.
But on top of all he's stupid!
His jokes are corny and torpid.

He asked the slugs lingering there
If they were venturing somewhere.
He fed them with his bronze coins
and left them among those ruins.

Happily didst he walk forwards;
when thunders started to slap hard!
The earth became full of water;
the sun died as it grew colder.

Into a hut didst he retreat;
To keep his blue shirts dry and neat.
But there he found a ragged old man;
whom was penn'less and had no friend.

For some free foods didst he insist;
a wish the boy could not desist.
Giving him his silver bracelets
Into the rain he swung ahead.

The furious winds clapped and shouted
Until the clouds fin'ly parted.
But from wetness did he suffer
As the storm grew weak and slower.

Sat he in peace by the river,
to dry his clothes and feel calmer.
With greediness he ate his breads,
'till he felt eyes watch him ahead.

Frightened then he raised to his feet,
whilst his enemies reappeared.
Two village lads with quiet chuckles,
sounding as evil as grovels.

Dropping the last three golds he had
With restless tears he ran ahead!
'Till he reached the rim of his house
Next to the farm of eight big cows.

There was a large group of neighbours
Gathering in front of the doors.
Beneath them on the wooden floors
Laid his mother, lifeless and sore.

'Mother! Mother!'
He wept and cried throughout the day
'Till the sun waned and stepped away.
He flung his hands 'to his pocket
and felt the forsaken locket.

He recalled his mother's message
Before he walked to his office.
'Forget not to buy some cabbage
as well as some bright golden fish'.

'For they'll cure me of this poison
which makes me feel like a prison.
And therefore they shalt save my life
as long as thou'rt back before five.'

'Keep yon locket and then sell it;
for it is my only treasure.
Look after and take care of it;
never lose it due to failure.'

But he forgot and ignored this!
As he walked home and met the worms.
He sold nothing and brought no fish
as he ventured along the storms.

Now his mamma's among the dead;
cried he 'till his eyes strewn and red!
With a torn heart he sorely mourned
as into the earth she returned.

And sent into jail was then he!
For he was deemed the one guilty.
Of his wild ways and carelessness;
so is his stubborn childishness!

How he was now a condemned wretch!
Happiness he would never fetch!
As everyone cherished their days,
in his dusty cell he decayed.

In three years he committed suicide;
People found him dead with eyes wide.
Reproaching his own foolishness;
regretting his bare loneliness.

And t'is is truthfully why I am here, my love:
I belong to thee, sacredly, entirely, and soulfully
to thee-yes, only to thee!
My eyes brighten at every sight of thee,
my mind delights at the thoughts of thee,
my pulse fastens at the views of thee,
my blood curdles at the scent of thee,
my veins rustle at the gaze of thee-and hark!
Hark now, dearest-how my heart leaps,
sheepishly yet excitedly-when'ver I recall thee!
Ah, and how t'is feeling trembles and fidgets
as always, as thou stareth back-gladly and
with a smile so handsome yet animated and playful-
sweeping straightly back into my soul.
Like t'ose stupefying, sentient glazes of summers-
blowing silently with the rustic gallantry
of t'eir ruddy oaks, my heart is elevated
with defiant, but affectionate branches
of terrific, terrific love for thee!
Oh! And t'ese thou but needst to know-
t'at both my virtuous-and vicious lusts-crave only thee,
as well as how my pure joys rely on thee!
As despairingly as how
my soul was born for thee,
my life was crafted for thee,
my hands were paired with thee,
and thus so graciously are my young feet-
my toes, my ribs, my lungs, and the very limbs
in which my spines might dwell, and be celebrated
by thy gentle, manly breath.
Oh, how thou, my Western prince-so delicate
and blessed with all the might
of my very being-thou hath, my love, since the very first
been my gem, my bronze, my silver, my gold,
my charm, my pearl, my diamond, my light,
my fire, my treasure, and my lifelong dreams-as thou
shalt always be!
And so art thou the perfect accord
to comply with all such of my mine;
as thou art but the freshest bloom
of my ****** years,
as innocent as t'is nature's peaceful labyrinths-
but youthful and starry like the fruit of my most curious-
yet ardently succulent imagination.
And how I am so devoted to thee, my love!
Just like the stars are to the moon above.

My love is somewhere I can't find,
and I'm wand'ring here like a ghost.
My heart that used to glow with shine,
now has been drowned, now has been lost.

Vladimir, Vladimir, oh my Vladimir
Cannot thou relieve my suff'ring
Thou who used to have me lying
By thee as I stroked thy bronze hair
Trapped in thy blue eyes, soft and fair.

Vladimir, Vladimir, oh my Vladimir
How could thou leave me in mis'ry
Whilst thy love's the one I longed for
And sweet like a chocolate candy;
of which I would always want more.

And just like all of my poetry
I'm left 'lone here with only me;
With all the lights that might have lit-
But died as I started to writ.

Thou art not the one I want to write about;
but it appears that I have no brighter choice.
The only one that seems to bear no fault;
and lives a life full of merriment and bliss.

And thy, thy name! So delicate as a summer laughter
With hands so imbued with clarity and brave power.
I believe thou art such an ingenious lover;
but frail as thou hath always been; weak and fragile
under thy harmonious cover.

And shall I be treading these paths, tomorrow noon;
whenst I'll come across a dainty flower by the lagoon.
Amongst those ripe cherries-there is one too like thee,
so mysterious and sometimes gazes awkwardly at me.

Thy young bud is that of rose and berry,
a symbol of thy soul so embraced by words and poetry.
Ah! And so deserving it is of graceful flattery;
as thou move along these paths, thy young heart shines
and gleams afar-just like the dribbling snow,
how childish, yet altogether refined and free.

Thy stare-o, thy stare, querida, is deep and anxiously unbending;
like those gracious arts and their prudential stone carving
or pools with swarms of red starfish so enchanting
as my little boat swims along feverishly, unnoticing.

And ah! Unaging as thou always art,
growth is but futile to thy slippery soul
With this world thou shalt never part,
and foreverness becomes thy frost-like hall.

Youthness of thine that shall never fade,
and handsome face that shall never wane.
O, how thy delicacy is to me like that cruel fate-
o my dearest, humble immortal man!

Timelessness shall then become our lasting key;
to a love sweeter and even more precious than destiny.
And live, live in utter happiness shall forever we,
as long as these muscles can breath, and as far as
these eyes can see.