a face of marble white haunts my mind
tresses of oak whisper about her form
such frightening beauty that strikes me blind
such laughter and hisses around me swarm

her eyes, like storms, upon me scornfully creep
lips of crimson taunt my helpless being
I cannot look away, this vigil I must keep
for no matter where I see, tis her I will be seeing

and I may never have her, for I am but me
a simple, obvious, lacking peasant
to her startling, glorious, radiant queen
so I sigh and sob and I lament

my poor, wretched self she has slighted
for this love cannot be requited