An Elegy Of Desire
Desire not, tender heart,
Ye, of baser earth make;
A furtive wish or a forlorn sigh,
Do not a very powerful prayer make!
Play not with fire, that threatens to consume,
Recoil, retreat, dare not presume;
The remains of the day, a bleak, grey horizon,
Metamorphing into darkness, the spiralling gloom.