Into gloom, and uncertain footing,
place of dead-ends and torturous descent;
into this airless, soulless surrounding
goes one to meet his love, and sing again.

These dim-lit cold-grey rocks always lead down
but this hopeful wills his lover ascend,
or rather the lover spurs him upward
for man and muse each so comprehend.

(You should know that when the lovers emerge
into the blinding light of rational day
their time together will cruelly end,
and this sad end and endless post mortum
has been the moral and point of the tale
from ancient depiction to retelling:
judgement of this art is now in your hands)

Be they sixty or sixteen remark them:
the state of play is all our lovers know.
While they may lack prophecy of their end
they have their desire in fearless love's glow.

Their unequalled love is told in gestures
take the unnecessary helping hand
see them stay so for all coming ages
free of the heartache that plagues our stark land.