A poem about a women so beautiful she must conceal it from others.
|Her beauty is like an angels face |
she hides with a mask her gift of grace.
Her bare visage is like the sun,
that would blind those who look upon.
She is a forbidden fruit and a scorching land,
her appearance, burning coals in the hand.
The night is onyx decked in the sky,
her visage a diamond made for the eye.
In the darkness she removes her mask,
on the castle porch without people in mass.
Here she unveils her beauty that pierces,
as a sword to the heart with great fierceness.
At night she's like the moon all alone,
that can only shine on this refuge of stone.