Springwinter Night's Dream

I looked out on an April night
and saw the ground grown ghostly white,
thought back upon the winter weird,
remembered that Titania feared
the seasons had gone out of sync
and posited a causal link
to winter's spillage into spring
from discord 'tween she and her king.

I do not really think, of course,
that B from C could have the force
to fill with snow the vernal skies
and gen'rally disharmonize
the music of the spheres, but still
do I believe, and always will
(it fits with everything I've seen):
of hearts I'm king and she's my queen.

I realize my timing's off,
that nearly everyone would scoff
at such assertions made now, here.
The world is flattened both from sphere
and musicality today.
Belief in magic's passed away
but modernism could be wrong:
we just might be inside a song.

Theseus disbelieved the dreams.
Pragmatic man, he knew not 'seems'
and, seeing nothing with his stare,
insisted that there's nothing there.
Hyppolyta demurred, could see
the import of consistency
among reports in which we 'spy
more to the world than meets the eye.

So Theseus' "I accuse"
against the poets', lovers' muse
(he called us mad and said we see
more in a face than there there be),
I do deny and plead my case:
a goodly God hath shaped that face.
And would I could, for some short hours,
caress those eyes with Ob'ron's flowers.
 

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