The Advent of Petrichore

In closed hands she imparted a simple token,

But in my hands it soon was broken...

I disgraced myself upon the lurid hedges,
And so leapt from the gambrel's edges,
where inwardly my stark courage confesses:

Firmly locked upon my cordate chest
My fledgling heart will be laid to rest
like cloth among the bramble's crest
O heart to hers, I recall morose contest
This fall invisaged hath slashed my breast

And to all dratted gods whom I have stymied
Eyes erring eternal, turn them downward
Her soul, the fool, and his ignominy
Where the grave sanguine anoints the spinney