and thus Ophelia was interred
poetry bound into her hair
not meant for mortal eyes to see
love’s token for eternity.

yet with death’s dividing scythe
can passion for lost love survive
these offerings gave to her soul
like love and death, grow cold.

he sought her pale and stoney rest
and wrenched his heart from her pale breast
but did his forgotten lover’s rhymes
lose their desire with passing time.

deli bal (unfinished verse)

I tasted honey from her lips
and into a madness did I slip
of sweetest expectation
this living nectar in me burned
all reason and regret was spurned
to free desire beyond intoxication

thus did a dream breathe into form
and from my beating heart was torn
ancient instincts too long dormant held,
among wild rhododendron groves
to waiting passions were we behoved
to submit as our fired hunger swelled