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Sirventes for James
Dismounting the siege engines, I am sad to see
those crowned like Petrarch decry
the heart's lament and passion's plea,
and stamp and shout and wonder why
a southern voice would give reply,
and rail with trumped-up hand displayed
against an action not yet made
that wall-less builds as would a worker bee.
Why, too, twist words that frailly sing
in public light with petty frets
that ply away with private sting
those wailing cries of sad regrets
whose sight is dimmed by raindrops wet.
'Tis better to opinions view,
than mock, and scoff, and hold askew
by tinted visions of empty rings.
This castle built beside the Sea
is proud and strong and craftsman filled,
but each influence northerly
adds light, as Pharos often will
to guide through STRAIT or lea untilled;
those sailors on a sea of fate
that greedy drink and drink to sate
their quest for knowledge drunkenly.
In southern climes lodge knights of worth,
of rank, of skill of lengthy line.
And titans that tremble all the earth,
yet teach with honor and design
all of the traits both fierce and fine.
But northern lords of honor's chain
who stood and held Atlantia's fame
are needed still. That strength, that girth!
Jongleur, as Lily, Cross, and Moon do mean
more than the symbols they recall,
impart to him that knowledge keen
like double-edged weapons fall
on friends and foes at trumpet's call.
Tho' hoary laurels laid on him
he's missed the gift of SolomOn.
The wisdom's whole in clues unseen.
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