Originally Posted by Marcassa

Abaist the Morning Twires
Still thou art my love e’er so fairest
The sweetly kissed flower that blooms rarest
That Dawn, in conceivéd glory, hast turned
To skies far lesser gleamed than shall be yearned

But, o, thou seemed such a faint whisper now
Pale against time and death, forged on thy brow
I hath kissed thee, though bliss hast not returned
Thy lips remain closed, eyes be not discerned

I covet the Sun and His constant light
For now my days, dearest, are but the Night
When Morning, vigilant and bright shall wake
The bales cast upon me doth more than ache

His warmth shall never wake thee; He dost know
And withdraws into depths of dark aglow
For at Night, my pains in thine absence, plead
Till the Morn wakes and I follow His lead