Doubt

This bitter taste of doubt
Lies on a time so precious
It does cast a taste of great sour
[like the fruit of the cursed vine]
On the tongue of one that welcomes it
Not even the sweet nectar of love
or the aroma of enchantment
Not even the bursting colours of spring
Or the enchantment of music
Can quench this taste

The bitter taste of doubt
Fill with rot, the mouth of the entertaining
And his supper
Forever shall be likened to ash

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