A Vernal Winter’s Grace
Eyes of piercing steel,
by Lord Dylan ParrishSubda of Sealand
strongest silver like yet burning ash
scalding willful, soulful resistance
with the timely cold of winter.
Hair which falls in snow’s visage
doth, sheet-like, grace her shoulders bare
and call unto the light o’th’ nighttime sky
responding with more radiant flare
And O! such lips of softened pink!
And O! into what beautiful flow’r may those petals unfold!
Alas! such voice I mayn’t know
Alas! my heart: she mayn’t grow.
What pain feelst, my distal heart?
what scorn from fate dost feel, O weary soul?
for by Her cruel lot, from this ideal, I’m set apart
and the muse remains e’er but virtue.