My dear Enaid, you havn't got a clue
Indeed, how much, it seems, I mean to you.
Love means nothing to the reluctant Muse
Enaid, come sing, you've nothing to lose.
Now caress your harp, meekly mesmerize
All the museless bards who but fantasize
Inside their airy minds, your faerie voice.
Do you see, Enaid? You havn't a choice.
No comments:
Post a Comment