Lancelot's Lament.

Thou purest, deepest heart,

death summons us to part.

Sulphur pollen, once gold,

now a bud-less story told.

Crimson slashed lime-lands of grass,

bosomed beats in desperation pass.

A shattered spirit has left her space…

She Heaven sleeps, her hair plaited lace.

Carmine-red sunset scorches my heart,

an ever-budding wish, we pledged not to part.

I kissed your hands, Carnationed our bed,

forever pink, I placed them on your pillows, red.

Faint breezes give rise to silken seeds,

your chiffon gown drips tears of ivory beads.

Oh! I’ll miss you darling, for my lips grow sour…

They kiss no more upon this hour.

Remember this…My love will never fade

as Lilac blossoms weep in mourning shade.

I loved thee fair, through Chamomile fields,

your budding womb answered lusty yield.

I love no more, my heart too strained,

from bodily touch I now refrain.

Evermore my Queen, my devotion for thee deep,

I weep till the blossoming of dawn’s sleep.

The fairest flower amongst planets and stars,

Heaven mirrors where ‘ere thou are.

Soon... I will lay thee in a tomb of Rosemary reeds,

your soul will drown in mauve clover mead.

I crave my death be swift and spirit pass away,

I will find thee, my Queen,
on God’s paradise way.

​Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

​Guinevere 1910 by Henry Justice Ford (1860-1941) Leicester Galleries.

​Published in Public Domain anywhere before 1923, and Public Domain in US.