what lyric, in terse breath of innocent words
can render this heart, in its tearful demise,
the life that came forth from its skeletal corpse
when it caught a short glimpse from thy lovely eyes 

those eyes, that though downcast a willow may be,
transform into ashes of cold winter’s night
the sadness that once had pulled down on the branch
and glance to bequeath the strut of delight

and still, with those hands that shaketh the soul
so did the world awaken from sleep
to glory unbound and beauty unknown,
to joy that in greatness made mirthful hearts weep

what lyric can ever outline thy design
or ever survive such sweet death in thy love
for in the brief time to pretend thou art mine
such happiness swore to have come from above.

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