Tell of Enchanted Ways

When may I tell my heart to you, 

Muse of dark hair and supple ways? 

Things that lay unsaid lay not untrue.  

Petite and pale as I burst into   

Class, you saw my red face panting.   

When may I tell my heart to you?  

My first words, paned, I knew,  

With lavish art, hid rampant praise.  

Things that lay unsaid lay not untrue.  

O girl with the beating bellows! To  

Leave ‘fore the night had fostered flames! 

When may I tell my heart to you? 

And now, morning after, I have only empty tune,  

That utters more than I and half-attempted ways. 

Things that lay unsaid lay not untrue.  

I thought myself master of all things words can do,   

But with you the world spins in dizzying haze,  

When may I tell my heart to you? 

Things that lay unsaid lay not untrue. 

Conor Killian