What loving God would shape this mortal frame?
Give me eyes to see thee,
Yet also vicious mind to twist and defame,
The ears to deny your plea.
No nightingale in perfumed branch had doubt,
To cast his sweetest voice into the dark,
No gazelle did fear impending drought,
And run from true love's mark.
But I am part-human, with sadness and sin,
For sure, he has my tongue, my gall,
To cause confusion where resistance is thin,
Nay disgust, without true call.
Whenever, as now, from men thrown down.
In Love, lives solace; in thee, my ground.

Delgarth Temperley

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Phaestian, in the year 391 AF.