The tomblands. A Ballad

Por Carlos R. Hortray.

I.
When trespasses of delicacy thieve despondency from me
Cold Love, retrieve’st mine heart thou robbed; I’ll plea,
Restore this soul to poise; of men
There never was a more piteous swine in wail,
Or sickness, who’s buried in lament most hard,
Or seas of cries cleansing mine heart.
Thou showed’st me my merit, wintry lady,
By making mine service thou; to the end,
So now, I implore: return mine eyes poor
thou snatched from me.

II.
Return mine orbs, and we’ll emend their sight,
Restore and bathe these sorrowed eyes to brightness,
My Venus; this feel in rapture we’ll revive
To sense of pure in lazuli from above;
And put away the trifling sound of my frail voice
To reinstall its melodies.
Thou teaching of malady forlorn,
Of this sad incessant world, of insolvency,
For life –you say—is lived enclosed,
this morose fallacy.

III.
Embezzle back my rights to euphoria. Thy heart,
Dark kernel, may breathe or lie dormant; and such contract
With clemency thou must reinstate, ah! but resuscitate
The life long past, for fate is flighty, as is
With a lover’s touch, and briskly there shall be ten,
Or more,  should I confide they’ll be forgotten?
Thou teachings of men, of lives, of loves
Never fulfilled, thy school is finer in the remorseless,
But when Thou mentioned words of bereavement,
once more I encompassed my weakness.

IV.
So, evoke this hope back from the murk of sleep,
Drowsy gates we’ll seal to-night, and weep;
Not weep my heart, let for no tears drop to waste,
But lay them kindly toward thy loved one’s door.  Haste,
Climb up, as Montague, to her window ledge and languish
Around in meditation, ye, languish.
Learn from Agape my dreamy fibre,
Slurp down the cloudy scarlet of Her sweet claret,
Its classes are fulfilled when sugary ache
from adoring you perfect.