Oh! What potent fate did happy childhood steal,
what sullied hate did crush young pleasures real!
Poet! Thou with powered words attend,
to quash the sordid deeds of soulless men,
wilt thou address dark loathed cruelty,
that gushes praise to odorous infelicity,
where torturous winds reap harsh howling rain
and lighting vexed that strikes with pain,
whose thunderous agony whips like daggers keen.
Cold, tremulous, shuddering voice doth evil lean
upon those serpent thoughts, what carnal ingenuity
solicit vile cancerous seed's impious obscenity,
to ulcerate virtue's natural creed of maiden shy or boy,
by mind corroded, with lust perverted joy.
Could'st nature dear, with many a cloak veneer,
insulate the child from future's shame and fear
and thereby quench the burning scars of wretched infamy
that serves the rushing blood of pale iniquity?
Enforced pale countenance and frail boyhood,
what fire will fuel the pride of adulthood?
Heir to ingenious wounds courts many a silent blush,
echoing tears that inner cry, sealed in a shameful hush,
must await! Healing wings of angelic poetry
pulsate within the victim's heart in young antiquity;
We, by honoured words more copious than its deeds,
speak of harvest that's not sown with seeds.
Best pray! One prism light, fancy full and gay,
colour the darken wrong, ignite the morn of day
with vestal serenity, on sparkling air's own harmony,
to dream love's dream with exulted ecstasy
as a flowered fragrance, to kiss the perfumed brake,
kindling embers sweet that on lover's cheek awake,
with soft sighing breath, roam as breezes free,
with naked music, innocent in all its infancy,

Alas! Granite by time hath harder riven,
vision shaped the scars of hell's own heaven,
will oft invite again bitter grief and tear,
love- lost eyes, where no bond may hold it dear.