He gave to her, yet tenfold claimed in return -
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She hath no life but the one he for her wrought;
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Proffered to her his walking heart - she turned it down,
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Reposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.
|
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Prophetess or fond?,
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Though her parle of truth:
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"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!",
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Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
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Seer of the future, not of twain,
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"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.
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Still, is she lief and quaint in his eye, a sight divine? -
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A mistress fueled by his prest haughtiness -
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If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee,
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Belike egal as it to him might be?!
|
|
Prophetess or fond?,
|
Though her parle of truth:
|
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!",
|
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
|
Seer of the future, not of twain,
|
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.
|
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'Or was he an eried being,
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'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
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Her naysay' rought his heart,
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Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
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She belied her own words,
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He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
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She held him august, yet wee;
|
He left her ne'er without his heart.
|
|
Though her parle of truth:
|
"I can tomorrow - refell me if ye can!",
|
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
|
Seer of the future, not of twain,
|
"Sicker!", quoth Cassandra.
|
|
'Or was he an eried being,
|
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
|
Her naysay' rought his heart,
|
Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
|
|
-----------------
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Cassandra
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Theatre Of Tragedy |