The Maid of Repugnant Sorrow

Streaks that mars the sphere of light,
I saw the halcyon that came in my dreams;
The temple’s clean, sanguine lips meant to gleam,
She is sentient with the elixir of a new bride.

With tenderness stands by the window in worsted gray.
Fe real the countenance is yet wry,
Pearls from the heaven smear the shadowy blush on her skin;
Death-shade is a natural kin.

Through the grayness of the imperative glass,
Becoming frail by the transom;
Looking at the unexploited street,
Her core tides with deep dejection.
Her maid rich in embroidery hangs,
By her through the time;
But she cannot spare sight from yearning of the Prince,
For whom she would give up every dime.

Mist is in her inner soul,
And is in attendance from her eyes;
In the umbrage of the worsened clouds,
She does scream in the silence of her painful life.

“Prince come and save me from the cavil of this vile,
This chasm will either burn me alive.”