A palm bled to an attained calm,
For a nail thus painted blue…
What’s a till in a shivered palm?
His beauty in black perfume…
Beast:
Would thy breath be a demean vigil,
Why could thou not be hysteria in a gown?
Would thy hair sow this heart a till,
I’ve got tulips, but you wear a frown…
Beauty:
What demean vigil could this breath arouse,
I’m the queen to be named a crown…
No hair of mine shall slit your furrows,
No tears of yours would name a swan…!
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