My Lady Fey

In the quiet of the day
I find some darkness,
come to play
upon the fringes of my mind,
in the shadow of the day.

In the gloomy mist of morn
within the fog
that shall adorn
the vista of a waning night
my love appears,
in fey, phantasmic light.

From some corner of a nightmare
does she look and does she stare
like an owl, silent, sitting,
while I, hapless, unresisting
must succumb my mind and will.

I may seem to be alone
in the landscape of my thought,
wading through a riverbed
of memories and tears shed,
but I wear a slaver's collar
for my soul is dearly bought.

All my world is thus reduc-ed
to her coming and her going.
All my passion is her passion,
and her fears are now my own,
I shall never be alone.
In this dim, occultic hue,
There comes her daemon in my view.