Written for the beautiful creature that graced the road to Cyrene for
but a moment yestereve, as I returned from Actar. If only I had caught
her name...

Where I first saw thee I can not recall.
Was it below the mountain pass?
Beside the lake? The swaying grass?
The light that caught thee began to pall
Beside thy countenance. A trespass
To rest upon thy comely cheek:
Blushed like rosy dawn and silk
To touch; to taste, as honeyed-milk.
Such light, alas, fleeting and bleak-
Illaudable beside thy ilk-
Could never hope thy face to frame.
Not even gold lustrous and rare,
But only thy own flaxen hair
In ringlets dancing, set aflame,
In decency may linger there.
Rarer still thy mettle's treasure;
Thou, beauty of the crafter's art,
Posses such virtue! In each part
Surpassing every means of measure,
That I yield to thee my very heart.
Gold has no shine, nor midday light
If thou art far from my own sight.


Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Miraman, in the year 384 AF.