Saving Grace

When empty bubbles of stillness brimmed the place Upon an emerald carpet of meads, she genuflected with gathered grace Of languished bones and reverence plucked from nunhood hearts. Mighty potentate dear, the wonted beseeching starts. Oh! May the taper of thought illuminate the native firmament of youth With eternal beams of clemency and immaculate truth. May remnants of vernal days, emulate the unsullied string of murmuring Rhine Which lofty silvern moon looks through in her decline. Oh! Bestow sleets of diamond, shower the withering faith abundantly My genuine night in ancient might and atrous raven majesty Never admits a lucid ray of Cynthia's placid light Nor scarce a pristine spark from virgin Lilies white. In festal exuberant mirth, flowers rich in prime often steep Banished from fervid fancies, my dreams slither from sepulchres of sleep Dreary like spectres embroidered in soot-black cloak Yoked with throat gripping images of woe, clawed than forked foot of hawk. Oh! Grand down the enormous wing of unyielding throes Intercepting the sun's beam of daffodil gold to disclose The jolly throng of seeming friends in vizard faction knit. Raze with fanged rust, the malignant swarm of antagonizing foes assailing in skits. Once these cheeks flushed bright than crimson blossoms glow Alack! Over those, briny springs of melancholy flow From heights of penitence, from depth of pain suppressed Creeping like subtle snakes from hollowed cavities of earth's breast. Since wisdom hoarded in writhled lores and hoary sage Never fades, stroked by boundless surges of age. Since the raging cold of thawed snow, is kindly kept in summer's temperate heat The severe taste of my delayed revenge, is neither lost in circles of time nor deplete. Oh! Divine celestial quill, in rich characters of light, write… Before the blind sentence groped to distinct light Restless billows of black-faced misery, wretched the brass-chain of words away Her thoughts bitter and sweet mingled without delay. Through hollowed glades redoubled echoes nimbly fly Plumed like pinions in boundless circles scan the scaled sky Bearing the closing effort of sacred orisons, sealed with despairing cry Imploring the sovereign sublime, perched upon Elysium throne Oh! “Let go the string, before this withering faith is tempest blown."