Sweet malady, abduct this reason
That whispers a festival of doubt
But provide no morsels for sacrifice.
No sanatorium yet, but still the signs
Calamitous mount, to discharge their glut
Of faithful words roosted with love.
Paradox indeed that permits pain
To recoil resigned seclusion known
For sensual battle joined once more.
No cure then, or recovery divine
To jeopardise this afflicted breath
But a kiss please, to silence need.
- The Field
- Dr John Dee Discovers A New Starr, 1572
- Masquerade Of Supplications
- Running Scared
- ‘Crenom! Oh, Crenom!’
- 3 Suicides
- A Mon Destin, Destormais Mon Delice
- Le Poete
- Old Sacrifice
- Patris Est Filius
- The Race Between Abortion And Old News
- The Salute
- Love In Translation
- Hector And Scamandrius: Iliad Book IV
- Crippled Child Trying To Ride
- Bloody Lovely Crime
- Sweet Malady