Enchanted thing: How can the chord of two choice words rise to the music of the rhyme that comes and goes as by a sign in you? From your brow leaf and lyre bloom, and in time all that is yours is but a metaphor in songs of love whose words soft as a rose's petals cover the eyelid someone closes as he puts down his book to read no more: that he may see you: carried off as though each leg were locked and loaded with a leap you will not trigger while the neck can keep the head held high and harkening: just so the woodland bather stops her bath to rise, the woodland lake retained in her turned eyes.