كلمات Cassandra

He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return She hath no life but the one he for her wrought Proffer'd to her his wauking heart she turn'd it down Ripostéd with a tell, tale lore of lies and scorn Prophetess or fond? Tho' her parle of truth I can tomorrow, refell me if ye can! Yet the kiss and breath, Apollo's bane Sëer of the future, not of twain Sicker! Quoth Cassandra Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? A mistress fuell'd by his prest haughtiness If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee Belike egal as it to him might be? Prophetess or fond? Tho' her parle of truth I can tomorrow, refell me if ye can! Yet the kiss and breath, Apollo's bane Sëer of the future, not of twain Sicker! Quoth Cassandra 'Or was he an æriéd being 'Or was he weening, alack nay mo Her naysay' raught his heart Her daffing was the grave of all hope She beliéd her own words He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge She held him August, yet wee He left her ne'er without his heart Prophetess or fond? Tho' her parle of truth Can tomorrow, refell me if ye can! Yet the kiss and breath, Apollo's bane Sëer of the future, not of twain Sicker! Quoth Cassandra 'Or was he an æriéd being 'Or was he weening, alack nay mo Her naysay' raught his heart Her daffing was the grave of all hope She beliéd her own words He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge She held him August, yet wee He left her ne'er without his heart 'Or was he an æriéd being 'Or was he weening, alack nay mo Her naysay' rought his heart Her daffing was the grave of all hope