In Her Mirror Sinister

Confounded, in the glass, by red and green,

I gaze upon

A pallor haloed, an uncanny sheen:

Then what, Inamorata, must be said,

That blue may bloom

Despite green's wrangle or the pulse of red?

Uncertain phrases, laborious and sad,

Must come to mind

Below belief, before blue may be had.

Familiars! I banish senseless green!

Prohibit red!

But I forget, who am no longer Queen,

How green and red are ultimately charmed,

And hence may throng

The brutal mind: how both endure, unharmed,

While blue, as perhaps God understands,

Will not survive

An interminable laying on of hands.