My lover's lute lies ever on my mind Of late. And all that I have time to do Is wander dreams in which we are aligned Once more, like ancient days when we were two. My lover is no more an Anchorite She is magic, song and charms and beauty Even lost in Hel's most secret plight She always plots a way around her childhood duty The far away horizon spreads before us And though I see her not I hear the chorus The first of all the songs she made sublime Parsley, sage, rosemany and thyme.
Until the day that we may meet again, howe'er Lonesome Angela of Asgard may I be When all I want to be is Sera's cavalier Yet all that I can do is wait, alone and abjectly.