Tytuł: Cassandra

• Wykonawca: Theatre Of Tragedy
• Wyświetleń: 414

He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return -
   She hath no life but the one he for her wrought;
   Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down,
   Riposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.
   Prophetess or fond?,
   Tho' her parle of truth;
   "I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!",
   Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
   Seer of the future, not of twain,
   "Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.
   Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? -
   A mistress fuell'd by his prest haughtiness -
   If he did grant, whrefore then did he not foresee,
   Belike egal as it to him might be?!
   Prophetess or fond?,
   Tho' her parle of truth;
   "I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!",
   Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
   Seer of the future, not of twain,
   "Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.
   'Or was he an aeried being;
   'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
   Her naysay' raught his heart,
   Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
   She belied her own words,
   He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
   She held him august, yet wee;
   He left her ne'er without his heart.