I pray thee come softly,

Lest I dream not of thee,

Such is and always will be,

Mine delicate immaculate;

Memory

---

To lie thine head upon,

Promises of silk and soft linen,

But let not promise belie thee,

Lest promise fade too soon;

As words do

---

For promise lies with Fortuna,

As does life and love,

Often hath she stayed her hand,

As I beseeched with all mine hope;

Yet gave and took when I desired not

---

Lo and behold: lives between life,

World between world,

Beneath, above, between and beyond,

Seven worlds I lived without thee,

Seven lives resigned without thee;

Yet what of the eighth?

---

Would I charm thee with silver-tongued wit?

Impress thy countenance with the brilliance of a thousand suns?

For I hear from the faint winds,

Blowing through cerulean seas and saffron plains,

Claiming to hail from Fortuna's lips to mine ears;

In the eighth thou shalt be mine.

---

Yet I grow weary of Fortuna,

For they say she favours the brave,

The young with the spring in their step,

The restless with their wanderlust,

The hopeful filled with ideals;

Yet I find myself older, tired and resigned

---

As the wind passed through the valley,

I could hear the heather mock me,

Tolling their bells in silent,

Perhaps Fortuna sought to bait me once again,

Or perhaps the winds had conspired to beguile the hapless dreamer;

The bells tolled for mine seventh life

---

Still it matters not,

I shall age hoping to gain wisdom,

As all men hope,

I shall muster mine dignity as the years pass,

As all men do,

And perhaps I shall see the face of eternity alone;

As most men fear.

---

Such forlorn hope I carry,

Such fading hope I struggle to grasp,

Such vain hope I dream,

And I ceased to care much for this world,

Dreaming only of the next life;

Or nothing.

---

Until then I muse on lost letters,

Silent verse, past glories and moments never lived,

Evident only to mineself,

To gaze upon a visage at its most beautiful,

Delicate, immaculate;

Dream