This is a lament for a lost love, written in old English style. Hope you enjoy it. |
A great metal bird, thy chariot with wings Wilt fly thee off, into the sky so vast; Back to thy land, glad tidings it brings, Whilst I remain, looking quite aghast. Alas and alack, I rue to this day That thy fair hand I kiss’d not at all. With troubl’d conscience I have to say I wouldst have done so, had I the gall. Oft do I strive, to think of thee, sweet Lizzie, And yea, have I prayed to the Almighty on high. But, methinks, He must yet be busy, For thy sweet face, I have yet to espy. I pause oft-times, by the shade of the oak And smile when I see thine innocent face. I dismiss with disdain, looks of the folk; They knowest not of thy charm and grace. Belay, ye feelings, have ye no pride To torture an old soul all the while? Begone, I say, thy cursed faces hide; Once more let this wrinkled countenance smile. When I think of all the insolent pups With wagging tails, how they surround thee, My sustenance spills from quivering cups; How come they dare to be around thee? But I cannot compete with these younger men And if fate wilt have it, then it must be. Mayhap one day we may meet again, I hold not my breath, if thou wilt pardon me. Someday for certain, (may I be so bold?) ‘Twill come the day that thou shalt be wed; Perhaps, my lady, I shall be grey and old, But for thee I’ll spare a tear to shed. Perchance, a kind thought here and there Wouldst surely not go too much amiss, If in thy thoughts, I wouldst sometimes fare, Upon my soul, ‘twould be like a kiss. Farewell sweet maid, my love, my Lizzie, Thy smile and thy beauty light pathways ahead, For truth be told, thou still maketh me dizzy, But let me dream on, until I am dead. |