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Literature Text
Where are you now, my Midnight Paramour?
The hour grows too late for my lamplight prince.
Unwinding another maiden's pinafore?
My most horrid fear is you doing this.
Are you with me, my rose garden lover?
... Or has it been writ that we must depart?
If you should ride off to meet another,
Then I grant you permission; keep my heart.
The hour grows too late for my lamplight prince.
Unwinding another maiden's pinafore?
My most horrid fear is you doing this.
Are you with me, my rose garden lover?
... Or has it been writ that we must depart?
If you should ride off to meet another,
Then I grant you permission; keep my heart.
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Here is a poem in Iambic Pentameter. I rarely do such a thing and you'll all be much happier if I never do again.
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