The cracked marble halls of a poet's chamber
with saffron exhausted and wine drunk
a bacchus ruin
let us halt this plodding waltz
that lulls the bees and their queen
the heart beats and breaks and aches
to a marching song
and so we shall young Turk
march on.

-----

Would that I be free to enjoy you as I ought
A rapturous envy
suffering rich to appease
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