Now that I've turned in my revision (!!!), I can catch up on the books I've been dying to read since...oh, 2007. Including The Sweet Far Thing. Sigh. Libba, you've done it again - at least as far as page 243...
Anyway, I'm reminded of a sonnet I wrote in college:
The liquid voices call to maidens fair,
A silent siren sings her song of sleep.
Oh, men will mock them--try them if you dare,
The sweet and deadly voices of the deep.
Surrounded by the moonlit water's shroud,
La Jeune Martyre, she sleeps in hellish glow.
Alone and silent, milky white and bound,
The voices beckon madness, letting go.
Below the crystal plane, the sirens ring,
Enchanted wails the weary maiden hears--
Our songs are laced with luring, whispers sing.
The voices strain to ebb and calm her fears.
And was the fair Ophelia afraid
To let the voices seep above her head?
- Holly Cupala, all rights reserved
Ah, there is a romantic trapped in me yet.