Angeline

E'er wast thou mine heart and all
Thee, for whom, a sonnet, mine heart sings
A rose, trapp'd in winds, a-billowing
Oh beauty 'pon such ghastly pall
Wreaths of flowers, dead, aloft thy pictures, moldering
Mourning party in full swing
Burned in the chalice, incense smouldering
To cleanse the air of mortal sin
Of flesh.

Thrice, rang bells and voices cried,
"On! on! On with the show"
Wanton rapture, even Jekyll could not Hyde
How this macabre masquerade fills me with woe

Sweet Angeline, of life was raped
Beauty diminished, thee smiles no more
Ethereal linens o'er thy corpus, draped
Oh callous death, I thee, abhore
Thou taketh my love, mine heart, and reshaped
Into foulest grisette that thee brimmed with ichor
Grief stricken, afeared - my mind hath escaped

Woe is me, in tear-filled glances
In terror, I curse my nightly dreams
Where I see thee, as if in trances
Wailing thy loss in blooded screams
In these, the great ethereal expanses,
Bathe we, in bitter, unceasing streams!

Alas! Oh cruel and callous time
On fleeting wings, I watch thee billow,
Away, away, from love - that crime!
Rest thy weary head 'pon granite pillow
My love, my Angeline, in thy stagnant clime
Where songbirds sing o'er weeping willow