The songstress sat at a little distance from his feet,
Poised and serene, confident in her femininity.
The attitude at which she bent over her harp,
Was easy and graceful, as a dove intent on song.

Two lips were exposed, ripe, fresh and melting,
A chin, in whose dimples lurked a thousand cupids.
Miles of glossy black curls escaped from beneath her cape.

His fingers longed to be lost in the darkness such tresses.
His eyes twinkled at the sight of her long delicate fingers,
and his heart became filled with pure rapture
At her ability to arouse such beauty from the voice of the harp.

Her Song as it flows.)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Hear now, love’s woeful cry before the twilight hour
Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon
Listen for whispers beyond ears hearing power
As lovers hasten to embrace amidst the ocean’s dune

Let not bitter weeping be heard beyond thy breast
When amorous souls refuse the blessing of sleep
For it is here, that beauty loves to sit and rest
And arouse the heart of lovers, in love so deep

A charm of pearls, beaded upon a golden chain
A gift, in hopes to please his lady of enchantments
Around her neck he places, her heart he hopes gain
With whispers of his desirous endearments

Aching to read, consent from warm virgin eyes
To kiss the sweet, sweet lips not kissed till then
To feel her tenderness, in lovelorn sighs
And share love’s pleasures in purity, not sin“.