Thursday, October 2, 2008


She stands beneath the mystic moon
As her love sleeps on the canopy
It would not slumber on a lagoon
Where the shadows are weak and weary.

Soft may the words of the wanton airs
It could always wave a melancholy
A tomb of sorrow is what it bares
but her solemn silence will be kept more holy

The beauty sleeps in its sacred keep
O, lady bright on her own fate
Heaven endures her as passion lies hidden
Not a knight or a vagabond would keep here awake.

But waft the damsel on her dreams
Her innocence molders her own destiny
May the alluring entity which springs
Gleam up her night musically.