I am but one ash of many,
Remnant of a by-gone fire
Quelled by wind.
I am but of body liquescent,
Mid the showers that brings the mighty tempest.
I am but a leaf of divers,
Anon to fall from agéd branch
As Autumn arrives, and the erst warmth retires.
I am but of common nature,
Who has not the beauty nor uniquity
Of Summer’s flowers,
Nor bids the eye inquisitive
Of the wanderer.
Lo! By dint of Winter’s dawn
Alas, I am to wither.
Supplanted by life anew
And forgotten thereafter.

How shall I to thee confess my love?
Gift thee divers roses and doves?
Regale thee ‘til cometh dawn?
Enchant thee with amorous song?
Thou art my physic
That heals the wounds of Cupid’s absence;
That remedies the soul anguished
Sans joy and passion.
E’en in fate withered
Thy beauty shall remain unblemished.
Yet doth the beauteous rose e’en perish.
Its petals ere burning red,
Ravagéd by eternal earth.
So too wilt thou be spoiled by Death.
So too will the agéd hands of Chronos
Pluck the tresses of thy head, ere burning red,
Just as the leaves of the flower.
Though in *****, e’erlasting thou liv’st,
Untouched by time’s misfortunes.
Nor present nor future
Shall o’ertake thy features
As within mine heart, thou art fore’er.
Now cease I, for at hindmost of writ we come,
And again, as regards my question, I bid thy tongue
O bearer of my fancy, how shall I to thee confess my love?
May ‘t start with th’ three above.

I hearken the air,
This splendid air
That issues of thy lute.

How thy gossamer touch
Betokens thy love
Hast thou for this
Beauteous tune.

Come weal or woe,
Selene or Sol,
These notes are
My physic—
Ay, ‘tis true.

Thusly, cease not,
And continue to pluck
The strings of thy
Delicate lute.

As I betake to part of my cherished hearth,
And traverse the wintry swathes----
That cloak the earth, the erstwhile warmth;
Yea, the frost hath come again.----

Hail I early morn, the light of dawn,
The skies sanguine-stained.
Tho' the path is long I continue on,
For yon do you await.

Your locks and skin of beauteous ebon,
Your eyes of Gallic beige,
So solace the *****, wearied and lonesome,
'Mid these invernal days.

Will I bear the brunt of winter's clutch
To share with you a lover's gaze,
O worry not, my queenly love,
For anon will I be there.

Once Baghdad was conquered,
And al-Musta'sim was imprisoned,
Hulegu Khan, aware of the king's
Great wealth and treasure,
Approached his cell, and bade him eat
Of his sumptuous goods.
The king, most bewildered by this order,
at once looked unto the Khan
and said, with voice stern,
“I shall do no such thing!”. It was then
The Khan proceeded to ask,
“Then why do you horde these gilded coins,
And precious jewels, and stones
Of land afar that you use not
To better the defense of your empire,
Or the welfare of your people,
Or the health of your animals?”
The king was silent, and the Khan's ire thusly grew.
“They then must be to eat
If they are not to be used
To strengthen your realm.”
“Do you store food for later consumption?”
“If so, why store these riches if they are not food?”
The king’s silence had yet to cease,
For he knew not what to say.
The days passed and to inanition
The king succumbed, alone and abreast of his treasure.

Do I lie upon these verdant spears,
And gaze unto the heavens.
‘Neath the boughs of the orchard,
Laden with the receipt of Venus.
Nigh the vernal showers,
Upon the passage of fair weather.
How the skies now welcome the somber ashen,
As departs the oneiric azure.
Though, I be embosomed by this sylvan protector;
Sheltered of the coming liquescent nature;
Permitted to appease my pensive complexion.
Oh the solace of my environs so begets a fecund mind,
Thus, commence I to ponder matters as regards love, and Death, and life.
And whilst mid thought, alas! The rains dawn
Imbuing the earth ‘round, yet hither I remain.

When comes the day I lie in rigid state,
O’ercome by earth abounding, touched by the hands of fate.
When consume the worms the shell of my being,
May our times of mirth and woe ne’er part of thee.
Such is the course of life, oh the child in time
Shall bid farewell to youthful *****, and betake to elder age.
So too in due course shall cease to flow
The currents o’er the cragged stone, and decay the nature ‘round;
Yea, thee one day shall Time's ills entertain,
And thy sweet youth o'ertake.
Yet till that lamentable hour,
When all be hoary and expired,
Thy tresses of auburn and eyes of azure
Will solace me thro’ th’ tempests of Summer,
And th’ fury of Winter, the vernal blossoms,
And the autumnal showers.
Art thou my Beatrice, my queen, my belovéd.