English title: "The white cat of agile love"
Aye, t’was the season that fruit bore weighty
  On the silmaaran boughs and treesun vines
The clackers shook wings, fitful spar of mating
  Shunning the feet of the passerbys
It was here on the hills so lush with sage
  I gazed on what I thought ‘magination
Mesmerizing white, with no signs of age
  She danced through the brooks without hesitation
Her paw met waters, yet spread not a ripple
  And her claw did not sheer any bark from their trees
Oh what woe be if this maiden were cripple
  For her ankles swept comely as if graced with wings
Ah such sweet hazel kernels sat on those cheeks
  Not for a second were e’er hidden by lid
Her jaw was in regards just as discrete
  Yet she sung in a voice I shall ne’er be rid
After the azure dimmed and night draped above
  I lie ‘moung flowers now shut with sleep
Restless my soul, hind gazing ‘carnate love
  Yet I pressed not to mar my face with weep
Not a moment after that crystal on high
  Was full as a spring well is filled to the brim
Returned to the brook of yesterday, had I
  Shortly hereafter, countless tear met my chin
At times like a seer patient, and wise
 The waters seemed all but placid with ease
Yet mist accrued from rock still did not prise
  As comely when day before ended fine’ly
Nay those waters did not possess grace
  Since, when before that maiden met shores
The rocks now seemingly wept from its face
  As if water was within its own hidden stores
Return to hillsides threw my heart in woe
  I peered through the hedges for a sight of that fleece
And rewarded was my search, Behold!
  For now returned hath that feline, she.
Without hesitation I ran to embrace
  That nymph who had exalted such fine airs
She did not coward from my presence or face
  Instead she gazed forward entranced in a stare
She did not falter, nor sped with a step
  Still as the marble effigies of Laanx
Comely even this state was she yet
  But not till in my arms would I give thanks
But she fled to the hills at my very touch
  As if my hands gave the pains of hot ember
While I ne’er ‘gain spied that pelt I longed much
  In the faces of all, that feline I remember
This is inspired by the work of Keats, "La belle dame sans merci" although not a direct imitation of prose.
Enjoy!
