For what is fair maiden but a guilded youth in mayflower bloom.

Riding among the midnight hour in search of moonless clouds and starlit night.

Forming a crescent crown upon her head and simple yet formal bow in her hand.

Rising to the passion of the hunt for her love, a love of no other.

Yearning, she lies wait.

To draw swift her bow into a arrow of love struck madness,

devouring every moment of lust into her bowels.

The cravings for such young love is a splendid detail indeed.

Gathering in and around, gracefully seducing every whim of whim itself.

Thus fair maiden doth cry,

“Bring unto me ye every pleasure and sooth my soul.

Streams flow from among my passions, stirring within.”

For thus does she cry mingling love with lust.

Guilded,youthful passion of love struck madness.