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An Orchard to Beheld inspired by King Henry the VIII

To a modest world of churned delight I may say

Aye, such crude wishes perplex us now
Yet tis uncivil to curb such passions
For tis to saveth Cupid to launch who doth his pointy mischief
Into my vessel so that we wouldst become one
I thank thee O cherub of Zeus and dear Venus
The Mother of all adore
O green sleeves of my chamber
Cometh to myne bed
So that rose may hath a bud to settle
Amid the orchards and thy meadow
A Creation to behold
How posies revere thee
And consecrate and exalt thee
With their heads along in commend
And behold thee with their amends
As I grant thee passage to a fulsome ground
Of orchard and land
Twas nay a lass as fare as thee
Nor as managed with beauty
Gold flourishes from thy pleased gaze
A happy hour tis
For us to be wed in Nature’s eye
An occurring sprite filleth our senses
conjure a fairy a love such as ours
To merit us with wired love
Dearly beloved
I treasure thee more than settled silver
Or mended gold as the Alchemist
Elaborates his incarnation
Of lead and iron
Delight me in thy corridors of love
For wherein all is begot
And all is blessed
As paradise becomes the earth
And the woman a seraph
A shining light to enlighten
Our nary heads with Elysium
And her thankful shores
Her banks and more shall stay
But at present I call upon thee
For our love’s sake
I take mine and you yours
For we shall part
As roses are plucked with dearly bloom
The sun shall die and seal our lover’s doom
Yet tis love lost to the peregrine
That carrion of late
A master of our saintly treasures
Tis e’er the most distant of beast
To be revered for infamy
To dross thy love’s goodly wealth
To think of such unnatural thoughts doth deprive thy health
A coppice of the departed tis
Yet we cannot disregard
For memories doth effuse thus
Like heaps of fire
And her ember doth ablaze the crudest glow
As she did Diomedes when he foretook the gods renown
How we also the latest of this ferocious love
Who raves and rants
With lips of the affectionate
a heart of the gentle mind
a wreath of thorns
to shudder the wicked with a cheerful brow
Fierce not though is it
Mere wounded doth trickle
From its back
as the truest fortitude hath undone this
The gay hour
Strafed in our hearts we are
To drink that drop of love
That hath drunk the finest of arts
How prosperity doth it last
delicate skies hath none better a friend
Of love, thine own intoxication permits thee at last

An Orchard to Beheld inspired by King Henry the VIII


Joined November 2007

  • Artist
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