He Gave To Her, Yet Tenfold Claim'd In Return -

She Hath No Life But The One He For Her Wrought;

Proffer'd To Her His Wauking Heart - She Turn'd It Down,

Riposted With A Tell-tale Lore Of Lies And Scorn.



Prophetess Or Fond?,

Tho' Her Parle Of Truth:

"I Ken To-morrow - Refell Me If Ye Can!",

Yet The Kiss And Breath - Apollo's Bane -

Sëer Of The Future, Not Of Twain,

"Sicker!", Quoth Cassandra.



Still, Is She Lief And Quaint In His Eyne, A Sight Divine? -

A Mistress Fuell'd By His Prest Haughtiness -

If He Did Grant, Wherefore Then Did He Not Foresee,

Belike Egal As It To Him Might Be?!



Prophetess Or Fond?,

Tho' Her Parle Of Truth:

"I Ken To-morrow - Refell Me If Ye Can!",

Yet The Kiss And Breath - Apollo's Bane -

Sëer Of The Future, Not Of Twain,

"Sicker!", Quoth Cassandra.



'Or Was He An Eried Being,

'Or Was He Weening - Alack Nay Mo;

Her Naysay' Raught His Heart,

Her Daffing Was The Grave Of All Hope -

She Belied Her Own Words,

He Thought Her Life, Save Moreo'er Scourge,

She Held Him August, Yet Wee;

He Left Her Ne'er Without His Heart.