Of Theodore Marmaduke, Canto V

Sat upon strong scents       The strong musk of loves

Carried forth to Bromdun’s crude     Perception. Beauty called.

Falling in strong desire for the Irishmaid       She fell not, but draught impudents

Of her loves were that of drunkenness.        He did desire her.

She did not know him,—      Rather he needed some loves

To long for.—Bereaved of       His beautiful lake where the cypress dwelt.

There, at the lake, a shebear foraged,      Made herself fat.

She ate her berries, bark and grass      Leaves, birch and sassafras.

But a carriage hurled by crass,      Out of control, the horses reigned not

And down the steep grade       Gone was the carriage that careened

To crush to the core       The shebear. The shebear was dead.


The one whom Bromdun now fell in lust      Blushed, maybe, by the brute dork

Of his dimwitted mind…     For Bromdon wished for death in those days.

But, the beauty of the Irish Countess      Causes his heart to cull.

For there was milk and mead enough for pasture         But miry was the murk,

The swamp too clammy a causeway     To cause her to be his creature

Of adoration. Too many avoidances.       She fell in love a lot, too fast for his allowance,

But he lost true love’s cast lot to the wagon       For in the wagon was a Fern-fielded lake.

The Shebear was killed       Where that foresty shire burnt to desert cold.


For one love a man gets aught     And all lost, the beauty of the laurel wreath

Was enough. Let him have her      Should she have him,—but she would not.

For no lovesong, not this hour.      The bitterness of this lovesong is sour.

So Bromdon awaited on God’s Gift     The gift of a second Beatrice.


For Theodore Marmaduke had set      To send the Ziddonian as a diversion

To cause Bromdun great pains to pursue      Her,—he paid the price of pride

And sanity. He pursued her, patiently,      Yet it would prove perfectly

Imprudent, for she did not know him.      She let him know not the lot was cast.

For the loss of this lover     Was lots cast. For she had never heard his lowing

Like a bull in the wood wont      With the loves of wonder.

She never heard. He, in his insanity        Wanted his lovesongs to reach her.

But they never did,      For Theodore Marmeduke

Knew that Bromdun fell into attraction     For the dame, but she did not know him.

For miracles of the sort do not surmise     Nor do they surface for Bromdun

Because Theodore Marmaduke      Thoroughly maimed his every move.

For she could not fall in love      But rather Theodore Marmaduke laughed

To try and cause Bromdun to believe     That he bereaved himself of the beautiful lake

Through abuse. But he did not.

He had lost a friend that day.

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