Set aside your dewy napkin, dear wife

Set aside your dewy napkin, dear wife,

For I see in your eyes a calming sway

That soothed me always in our early life

When I could be convinced, but not today.

No longer will my pride-filled subjects gaze

Upon this supreme throne of dread and awe,

But heedlessly pass luxurious days

That openly mock and flout at my law.

Smoke and filth are my tributes here. Those sweet

Spicy wafts and timely slaughters that filled

My senses pure have stopped, and I regreet

The morning sky with all my joy now killed.

So, today, I will sit myself in that regal seat

In all my splendid rage. I will glister

Over them in my robe of flames,

And they will touch the ground. Nor blister,

Burn, nor quenchless thirst upon their bodies soft

Will steer me from this vengeful course once I'm full aloft.

My locks are loosed from their melony sphere

My locks are loosed from their melony sphere,

And autumn's creeping chill begins to frost

My skin and bones. Winter is almost here

Wherein everything that has not been lost

Will wither and become a timeless heap.

And I, new subject to the brutal blast

That beats us all in winter's icy deep,

Will feel the gust that no man can outlast.

But till then, this old heart pumps through the frore,

Safely warmed by the joys here and to meet

Of keen thoughtful beauty unknown before

In green springtime or the summerday's heat.

   Though my body begins its fall apart,

   We must not speak so of my vibrant heart.