Perhaps

Elizabeth McEachern

 

You shall not my happiness bequeath
To the demon with the bearing teeth
For if night is long, and time is a woe
Why can love reflect its past foe?

Perchance I did see the morrow
Filled with lust and woeful sorrow
Tidings of the Cupids’ Decree
Shall plague all the meager privy

Wherefore art thou, vile yearning?
Plagued with Earth alive and turning?
Dost thou wish my happiness dispatch?
And make this mortal day my last?

As wailed I, repeated once
Happiness shall not be taken hence
The common I, with scent of rose
Darkness shall become my foe!

Hark! come hither, I am free to wonder
My happiness shall not be torn asunder
No longer plague me with woe, alas
Happiness was always here, perhaps.

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