I cast gramercy forth thy rueful troth
And nay mote swoon 'twixt blooming mirth and woe.
Nigh bodkin thwart I ford o' grief I loathe
That bestoweth morn- behold and lo!
Thou art bulwark o' mine in boon and sorrow,
I harken to thy breath within a scowl.
I wit: thou art my daunted awe in hollow,
A blissful dirge o' feign'd and banish'd role.
Swathe thou me in thy blindfolded eaves:
Mayhap thou art a cherub or an imp.
Caress the darken'd flesh o'wither'd leaves
And I shall bequeath thee pulse's limp.
Orbest thou my heart in sweven's rapture
Ere my pale eyne droop in my lief capture.
day 33
© Copyright: Марья Лааксонен, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109103108090
Свидетельство о публикации №109103108090
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