Cassandra
He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return - She hath no life but the one he for her wrought; Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down, Riposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn. Prophetess or fond?, Tho' her parle of truth: "I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!", Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane - Sëer of the future, not of twain, "Sicker!", quoth Cassandra. Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? - A mistress fuell'd by his prest haughtiness - If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee, Belike egal as it to him might be?! Prophetess or fond?, Tho' her parle of truth: "I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!", Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane - Sëer of the future, not of twain, "Sicker!", quoth Cassandra. 'Or was he an eried being, 'Or was he weening - alack nay mo; Her naysay' raught his heart, Her daffing was the grave of all hope - She belied her own words, He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge, She held him august, yet wee; He left her ne'er without his heart
Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 25, 2025
Parch'd of words, parch'd of lauds, Lorn and tyned fro my wame - 'Seech I more perforce indeed: Lap I of thee: Thou art want. With dulcet gust thine floret, Which I yet would not do - Pray I thee for thine avail - Lave me in it; I want more! For my loe, not be adust. Come see as the wind: Chant - I let thee come in - Come see as the wind, Aoede. As of lote - upon thee dote, Lowing 'tis, true forsooth, Tisn't a tongue, nay merely mote, Thou art grandly mae than couth': Eft and e'er doth it eke - I am what I do behold. For my loe, not be adust. Come see as the wind: Chant - I let thee come in - Come see as the wind, Aoede.
Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 25, 2025
He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return - She hath no life but the one he for her wrought; Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down, Ripostéd with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn. Prophetess or fond?, Tho' her parle of truth: «I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!», Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane - Sëer of the future, not of twain, «Sicker!», quoth Cassandra. Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? - A mistress fuell´d by his prest haughtiness - If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee, Belike egal as it to him might be?! Prophetess or fond?, Tho' her parle of truth: «I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!», Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane - Sëer of the future, not of twain, «Sicker!», quoth Cassandra. 'Or was he an æriéd being, 'Or was he weening - alack nay mo; Her naysay' raught his heart, Her daffing was the grave of all hope - She beliéd her own words, He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge, She held him august, yet wee; He left her ne'er without his heart.
Submitted by NecroGod — Nov 08, 2025