The Magic Dream (To my memories of Shakesphere)

T'was the fairest. That kept from the foe's presence.

Kneedled crink upon, yet mad'n bled.

Couldnt rope a latch that bid'n loosen.

Nor fly the way on'er sacred silence.

Stroked soft, yet brighten'd, with merrygold hues.

Sway'd shaded and sparked with sadden riped blues.

Couldnt bear, yeh lural roots.

Golden hairs, it gated, my threaten hoots.

Thy, come, not torture my beg with outness.

Let, give me some, thou magic dream, less of loudness.

The trumpets call'er, down fall I must. 

T'was only magic wanted I, with fairy dust.

Onl' lights from pleasent mind ways.

Can have, what asked, of your magic dream rays.