The shady glade of red, red roses
And soft cool grasses walled by dryadic oaks
Lies partway between the poles of her dreaming eyes.
The mountains in her third vision
Shimmer with the zephyr-borne frosts
Of the northern barbarian wastes,
Where heroes tread softly with lupine allies.
Rivers placidly trail to the unknown shores
Of crashing Atlantean seas,
While midst gently sparkling waters
Mermaids and nymphs play merrily
To the bacchal pipings of drunken satyrs.
Upon the golden plains of a faraway kingdom
Roams the gilded knight on faithful mount,
Lance leading the way to
The roaring dragon’s heart.
And in the ivy tower sits the wizard wise,
Spectacled mumblings groaning for
Vision and movement lost moments
Before the fiery charm is birthed.
Yet where is she in this grand sketch
Of verdant, heroic vision?
Ah, the Princess enchanted in her
Moonlit and magical grove
Where only hers and elven eyes may probe!
And I?
Well, knight in armor I might not be,
But guard I am regardless.
For idyllic eyes see mostly what they wish,
While reality trudges forth reticent,
With callous duty citing the heedless to punish.
Hence her aegis have I become,
In mythic transformation adding
To the dream that would Be.
