I guess you’ll have that visage that drowns me
as I’m swept to far off sands, isles that presage
the cask in which you’re kept,
and in your smile and eyes and span I’ll shyly
place my trust, more than the men and friends of ages past
have begged, and just as fast.
I hope you’ll see my shards as gems and gather
where they’re fallen those bloodied pieces at their hems,
replace my inward calling,
that I may find anew in you a view
that gives me hope. And ’round your hand and mine entwine
the holy Celtic rope.
I pray you’ll have that honour that reminds me
whence we came; to one another, donors then,
we’ll share the sacred flame
and when my luck is run and yours becomes my rock,
then ready a sturdy, gentle arm that fends the hours
and keeps me steady.
Oh, prince, I cannot promise that my case
be prime and pure to win the doubting Thomas with a
delicate demure, but,
this I swear – when I have vowed, my heart
will never fail you! Alas, that, I may find you now to prove it
and to pray you.
I give you grace to take me as the
hills receive a shower of crystal rain, with open glee, and
fearful of the power.
For, I have swept myself across the hearts that
begged to love me, and run my river thin, collecting dross that
naught but bogs me.
A fountain then, as once I was, I seek
from out my lover that, gentle heart, a font of stars us two
may jointly cover.
I cannot hope to please, but beg thy mercies
o’er my paining, for fear hath ruled the most this leg, the race is
Yet, run I will, and give my all without a
thought of failing, for you will be the prize withal our bondage
e’er worth hailing!
So, proudly raise your chest, good Sir, and smack this
heart upon it for happiness and fairness’ sake, ‘twon’t be long
‘ere you’ve won it.
Could I describe the amorously glowing chest that
hails you, you’d know my truth and fervour, let no
waning love detain you.
My warrior, my tiger, keep your fur for me,
your furrows, and I will keep my being for you, my heart,
my every fiber.