la muse malade
Alas my poor Muse what aileth thee now ?
Thine eyes are bedimmed with the visions of Night
And silent and cold I perceive on thy brow
In their turns Despair and Madness
A succubus green, or a hobgoblin red,
Has it poured o'er thee Horror and Love from its urn ? -
Or the Nightmare with masterful bearing hath led Thee to drown in the depths of some magic Minturne? I wish, as the health-giving fragrance I cull, That thy breast with strong thoughts could for ever be full, And that rhymthmic'ly flowing thy Christian blood Could resemble the olden-time metrical-flood, Where each in his turn reigned the father of Rhymes Phoebus and Pan, lord of Harvest-times.
YOU ARE READING
Marriage of Skin and Steel
PuisiThis is a collection of depressing and unusual poems that I've been writing for the past 3 years since I was a freshman in high school. They're based off of things I've seen, done, or had done to me. Seems as though poetry is my only outlit and esca...
