To Thy Good Lord Raven
My Mina, my thorn
Seductive are your eyes
My dark knight, my storm
For whence the fire flies.
Thy Raven, he soars
Above the cloudy sky.
Dark angel you are
Sprite unto my death.
‘Tis pride that dost hold you
Feet planted to soil
Roots spread unto me
Trees do toss and toil
Consumption to your own.
Ne’er do I pray you
Free me from thy fear
From where the light doth show.
Yet, the beauty you hold
Shall scorn foreign mind.
Has thy beloved told,
Proclaim love to lie?
My love, no longer fear
Compare passion to art
These words do I hold dear
Your hands to my heart.
March 11, 2009
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