Gold From the Heart

And they value the veil of a virgin, The voice of a nightingale, A knight’s sword and castle; O, the beauty of a beholder’s vision! Now, the mother of all virgins moans For a virgin valued not, And the nest of our weaver-bird burns – All agonies & tears rivet! O, a knight’s soul, a soul caged In the fiddle of a naïve devotion, What python-lips in a slow motion Of gentle kisses & embraces raged! Hidden by her doleful charm A full task of dead silence was so perfect And the recoiling of her liberality calm What a full squash & a clan lies imperfect! Now, joy & liberty are captive-taken; O, behold her, behold our pure gold Mined within her at first & of old – Bare our veil, see fortitude, forsaken!