Pot Pourri, by Herbert James Draper.


O’ Music, Only when you strum my threads,
Vibrating into the fragrance of our decadence;
unto the evening night treadings,
within thy floral hues,
and thine earthly cues.
Blessing the heavenly and mundane weddings,
O’ Aria, Sweet, Our time does fleet
into the racing searing heat.
A beating heart into the flawless memory
Out of our sacred potentiality.
O’ Aria, Sweet, Our story is an allegory;
An epitome of reverentiality.
O’ Aria, Sweet, Love only speaks when life goes wrong,
When Love is frail, when Love is weak then Love is strong.
Unto the noise, & through thine voice, I sing my song;
That Love is so, A resonating flow, rippling unto dormance,
Through time, it alters not. Yet Alters all it perceives.
It holds all faith in being, all hope unto the chance,
Bearing all being, Lasting through fleeing, In doubt, ever it believes.
Praying a mystery you can never unknow;
That in each goodbye, it conceives hello,
In each departure, it discerns a meet,
Much as you do, my dearest Aria, Sweet.


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