How lovely is the girl, who cannot look
Upon her rapid days without a smile,
Who kisses all the leaves of her life's book
And rides along her fairest name beguiled
How lovely is the girl, who shall not wane
In any rapid place but hers alone
Who risks her all for times in places skeined
With curtsies, caring, pompidores and combs.
But should the lovely girl lose her calmed way,
Now parry, then extend her rhymes to wrong,
Or bury her blonde head in rhyme's decay,
I shall be there to charge her with my song.
   The girl who suffers must beget a name.
   May she who suffers most be set aflame?
JDB 1997