TO POESY, MY SPOUSE
TO POESY, MY SPOUSE I raise my quill to hail the muse and beg for wings that glint with runes. Walls bleed from pox; wind roars at panes ice gnaws my bones; a pale wick gasps. The yew desk groans; rays crown old stabs as fauns chide gloom and puff on scrolls. Verse pours rich oil; my dead lamp sighs... Sign in to see full entry.