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!
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