Written by: nette onclaud

I must have met her slowly wandering Along a bushy stream, her locks breeze-tossed With cheeks a pinkish rush, fair more than Spring, And I, a woodsman dared to come across This Lady lounging poised among the grass. Her sunlit face wore off into a gloom Beneath a tangled pine from which fresh scent Grew drowsy like her Gaelic robe cast down While handmaids trailed nearby,with wreaths abloom Behind the rays, deep was her discontent. In mild chatters, I heard a lonely spill Bethroed to a Lord she was not inclined To offer hand, stirring blue eyes, wind-chilled And watching her from lilies on the vine, Her beauty sad cascading through mountains, More sad than black,or all that black can pour. Adored privately, I longed to hold her arms Where splashed the murmur of this my heart's veins With all her loveliness did she implore, As calm sorrow drained of her woodland charms. Isaiah Zerbst: George D. Leslie's Contest Nausikaa visual Written by nette onclaaud