As I depart harken to my confession
I lust after thy faint embrace—
My heart yearns o’er thine coy grace.
My precious love—‘twill aye endure,
I’ll ne’er quench to crave for you.
My utter bliss, my veiled desire,
I rave of thee, my soothing liar…
Why dost thee arouse concupiscence?
Wherefore dost thee turn to offense?
I take the rue: I loathe to wait.
My life idea, my pearly gate,
I daren’t touch thy longed-for lips,
Though thine fey eyes behold my deeps.
Wipe my vain tears with thy hand—
‘twill soothe my torments thee haveST sent.
Harken ravings’f morbid slave:
Thine beloved palms are my grave.
My soul toss’d ‘twixt my woes and death.
Thou shouldst wail—‘cause I confess.
And if thou e’en losest thy lust—
Embrace me, leaf, at my last gasp…
As I depart hearken to my confession
© Copyright: Марья Лааксонен, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107112302949
Свидетельство о публикации №107112302949
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If you tell me some famed antique Briton took part in scribing this --- whilst you were asleep – I’d believe it ! :)
Best!
Fern 25.11.2007 11:54 • Заявить о нарушении
Best!
Fern 25.11.2007 11:54 • Заявить о нарушении
That flatters me too much because it was the first experience of writing in Early Modern English. I hope I succeeded.
Марья Лааксонен 06.12.2007 21:56 Заявить о нарушении
Марья Лааксонен 06.12.2007 21:56 Заявить о нарушении