Her crystal crown of ice-thorns melts, and trickles
blood-warm droplets on Queen Winter’s brow
Her flaming, molten, sacred heart pump-pumping in her pinkening, swelling breast; she bears down
Day and Night dance tarantella steps, to frantic fiddle and flute around her bed
Lords, bawdy in their floral cups and motley petals, pay homage to Prince Spring; hiding, shy, behind curtains of mist ‘til summoned to sing by King Sun.