O' Thou, friend of the most gracious being,
Within the blessed Beatrice's retinue,
Matilda, who art 'mongst the nobles ring,
Her whispered praise revealeth in thy view.
On yonder sphere of flame, wish taketh flight,
For thou alone dost see her heavens' crown,
My words' poor gleam shine 'neath her glowing light,
In thine ether for her, my heart would drown.
By such a gift as I on thee bestow,
One favor I of thee do humbly plead,
Doth concern thine ally whom my dreams show,
Wherefore mine eyes with heavy sorrow bleed.
Veiled her visage since I beheld her sad,
Pray, tell me then, should I in blame be clad?
6/26/2025
-
Author:
Parsa (
Online) - Published: June 27th, 2025 05:23
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Soman Ragavan, Poetic Licence, Damaso
Online)
Comments1
A poem of past myth cast in old language to give it a sense of age it is wonderfully worded and rhymed telling its tail and leaves its question. A fave
Thank You
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.