Note: This was written almost over a year ago in a fit of literary burst. There should be more to this poem, and the second part was meant to be comedic, I think. Something about the stench of the lady's farts that she would confess that would blow castles away, as the reason for rejecting the man. And then something about the men saying that it was ok, since he was lactose intolerant, and they would join one another in a sonorous tribute to the gods at their timely union.

But then again I kind of lost heart (and thread) of what I wanted to do with it, and so it shall remain, uncompleted, until I find the spirit to complete it. One day, when the spirit of the methane moves me, I shall.

Part I

[Courtyard, night.]

Man: As Luna shines her blessings on us tonight,
I entreat thee, my lady, yield to me,
For there is none that is my precious,
If your fairness not be.

Woman: Thy countenance fine to look upon,
Your courtly manners move me thus,
But yet I fear I must reject,
For I fear it would not last.

Man: Abate those thoughts, most beloved
Allay you I must,
Of my love I must profess
As undying as the overhung stars.

Woman: Nay, thy innocent as a newborn babe
Blame you not I can,
For this I claim shortfall on my part,
Alas! Afflictions that befall man!

Man: Man must not strive towards
What the gods have perfected,
For objects not wholesome,
In the eyes of lover one completed.

Woman: Pretty words to spring flowers,
Drawing moths to flame.
Have I been burned but once,
In such dangerous game.

Man: Would thou remain bitter,
Whereupon your faith?
In me place not better trust.
For you my heart I gave.