You have kissed all the ladies of our court
And made them mad with love.
The maidens shy away at your touch,
Eyes wide, like deer a-frighted.
But modest matrons, at your words,
Blush, tremble, drop all reserve,
Are harlots turned.
You enflame my very soul
That I do look all ways
With the eyes of Love.
Your glamour lies upon me like a sheen --
Men kiss me on the street.
You have wrought Babylon in Arcady
And we are not the same.
If you lift your little finger
We'll all do it in the road.
This work is copyright The Witches Trine and the author, 1996. All rights reserved.
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