Thine awe held above so high,
Could Isis dance without a lie?
Nay, nay She’s in love for true
Dispel this fear once had in lieu,
Nay, the art of beauty is divine,
This art you hold is only thine,
Such rays of sun are for shame,
Who could never replace thy name,
A grand design known only to few,
By one sitting only wine could brew,
In finest notes no glass ne replace
The casket of grapes we displace ere,
The glass poured in honour fair,
Plunge me not to times so dark,
I am but hardened the man as bark,
This dead visage I conjure ways,
That I am but half the man he says,
Alas the night grows warm with mind,
Though I am but yond apart behind.

Category:
Mystical, Poetry, Works
Tags:
, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: