She was seen and danced the moment well
The sun now sewn by the cyprian elegance of the Temptress' err

Brazen tides of her enchanted glare,
cropped so sweet the autumn's fare

 And as the subtle courtier, she mourned a time...
In reap of harvest rhymes,
the sadness of the last May wines

Each drop vested,
a goblet raised to Methuselah's lament
And lure of the Rubicons lesser sins

 Prominence gained, Paradise lost
Idealist's fame, and Romanticist's cost

None intimate, nor foe, may subdue her mirth
Nor even dominons of weakened souls, their tawdry fires, and in-fertile earth

 Oh the journey be her muse
For conquest of the dreams of youth,
and tales of great treasure to sooth

 Oh the salvations and their tears,
and the ambitions of great men
Their bounded leather notes of quill, are bound and burned again

 And on she ran, of port to terrace
Amidst lavish gardens of nurtured rose and lily

Ah, the Temptress,
her quest for one exhaulted midnight's bell
In depth of solemn swells
And chill of salted air, and yes now, a clinch of tapered sails

The flowing tangled darkened hair
Never now, never then....
Forgotten by this sailors glare