Post by keithssweetheart on Nov 3, 2009 17:11:14 GMT -5
Another ballad I wrote for my senior year (as part of composition class). Writing is just SO MUCH MORE FUN when you make it about Celtic Thunder or something you're truly passionate about. The girl is supposed to be a Zara-type character. 'Hope you like it.
The Trance of the Signoré
From the highways and byways all of Italy came,
to the home of a Signoré whom we will not name,
what is for certain, he did not hold ill fame,
he was determined to charm her that night.
The glow of the moon burst forth from night sky,
each clad in his finest, masks sparkle—mysterious eyes,
some gave tongue to truth, others to lies,
upon entering his mansion, they were taken by storm.
Candelabras, chandeliers—riches untold,
every tile and staircase drenched in gold,
this magical trance was taking ‘hold,
it was then our Signoré spotted his prize.
The gilded doors swung open as far as were able,
there standing beauty unknown, save for in fable,
she stepped meekly through the crowd, past every table,
to the Signoré she gave a bow.
Taking her hand, he gave it a kiss,
his manner so compelling, she could not resist,
the spark in his eye, a deep-blue abyss,
they swayed and twirled, throngs standing at bay.
Each move he made, she was sure to meet,
weaving their hands and kicking their feet,
both stubborn minds, eager to compete,
their dancing continued for hours.
At the break of day, most guests adjourning,
yet the fiery pair persisted, feet burning,
and the sundial’s hand, it continued turning,
when, without warning, the duo came to a halt.
The young maid blinks and opens her eyes,
an eternity of cavorting dies with the sunrise
the dancing, the Signoré, conjured up by closed eyes,
at the alluring dream she sighed.
The Trance of the Signoré
From the highways and byways all of Italy came,
to the home of a Signoré whom we will not name,
what is for certain, he did not hold ill fame,
he was determined to charm her that night.
The glow of the moon burst forth from night sky,
each clad in his finest, masks sparkle—mysterious eyes,
some gave tongue to truth, others to lies,
upon entering his mansion, they were taken by storm.
Candelabras, chandeliers—riches untold,
every tile and staircase drenched in gold,
this magical trance was taking ‘hold,
it was then our Signoré spotted his prize.
The gilded doors swung open as far as were able,
there standing beauty unknown, save for in fable,
she stepped meekly through the crowd, past every table,
to the Signoré she gave a bow.
Taking her hand, he gave it a kiss,
his manner so compelling, she could not resist,
the spark in his eye, a deep-blue abyss,
they swayed and twirled, throngs standing at bay.
Each move he made, she was sure to meet,
weaving their hands and kicking their feet,
both stubborn minds, eager to compete,
their dancing continued for hours.
At the break of day, most guests adjourning,
yet the fiery pair persisted, feet burning,
and the sundial’s hand, it continued turning,
when, without warning, the duo came to a halt.
The young maid blinks and opens her eyes,
an eternity of cavorting dies with the sunrise
the dancing, the Signoré, conjured up by closed eyes,
at the alluring dream she sighed.