Ah, Brittany, where magic clings to life
And shivers, sea-green, through her pearly gown,
A haunted green, bereft of hue, yet rife
With forest sorcery, that even now
Adorns her form, entrancing all nearby
And lays their shapes, half-dreaming, on the ground,
As breathing swift, the moment idles by,
And as they dream, another is unbound.
When Tristan spies the pale, enchanted maid,
Her cold and spotless beauty fills his mind,
That raven-crowned Iseult, that ardor bade
Give Tristan dreaming of a darker kind.
Her presence rivets Tristan like a spell
As to her song, he listens far too well.
1 comment:
Not a fan of this one, which sort of walks over itself. But a day is a day, and like I said before, they can't all be winners. :)
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