Enchanted thing: How can the chord of two
choice words rise to the music of the rhyme
that comes and goes as by a sign in you?
From your brow leaf and lyre bloom, and in time
all that is yours is but a metaphor
in songs of love whose words soft as a rose's
petals cover the eyelid someone closes
as he puts down his book to read no more:

that he may see you: carried off as though
each leg were locked and loaded with a leap
you will not trigger while the neck can keep
the head held high and harkening: just so
the woodland bather stops her bath to rise,
the woodland lake retained in her turned eyes.