O where is Sylvia, mystic maid of time

Who for a moment reigned in passion pure?

All eyes to praise her essence, sweet, sublime—

Though few did see that heart of love demure;

I left her last, still naked, ‘neath the moon…

White silken skin bathed in a lustrous light,

Slim arms askew as in a gentle swoon,

Strawberry lips aglow in candlelight;

I exited her chamber duty bound

Not knowing as I closed that shadowed door,

That there my fondest hopes I would impound

And strive in search of love forever more.

Though silver light may bathe dear sylphs in kind—

No peace remains while she still roams my mind.