A timorous girl,
But no fool was she,
Having encountered the Fae,
Of the old willow tree.
No dream was this,
No slumber deep
That lustful sprite began to weep,
And wail he did and pound the floor,
Promises were made,
and yet,
more and more.
Alas, whilst wise her eyes,
Her heart was green,
His ficklety unoticed, unseen.
Sweet Magda fair, with the silvered hair,
How brightly she shone,
Though when sweet petals were gone,
All that remained was the bitter, sharp thorn.
Leaving soft, alabaster flesh, bloody and torn,
Gaping, with a yearning too painful to hide,
Weeping silently she tried,
To forget the vows from lips untrue,
And from her heart all love she slew.
Thus, sweet Magda fair,
Shows no more,
The brilliance of her silvery hair.
Wrapped tightly in a shroud of black,
She knows now,
That fickle sprite will not be back.
But still,
She waits,
No longer pining.
She dreams instead of dining,
On his heart, still beating,
However fleeting.
Whilst he thrashes,
And pleads,
Growing faint as he bleeds.
Soft, alabaster flesh torn.
A taste so sweet.
'Aah' sighs she,
Now replete.
Magda's tale was a twist on a ballet called La Spectre De La Rose choreographed by Michel Fokine for the Ballet Russes in 1911.
Originally danced by the magnificent Vaslav Nijinsky and the ethereal Tamara Karsavina,
with set and costumes by the master himself, Leon Bakst.
And so, I found this wonderful 2009 performance of Manuel Legris and Claude De Vulpian for you to enjoy
with a goblet of absinthe and some turkish delight...
