For Lady Chiara diMarzo
For For Lady Chiara diMarzo
My song sings praises of Chiara's grace,
of flaxen hair, pale skin and eyes of blue;
this day, when strength and courtesy ring true,
and honor's more than whispers in the wind,
Eoghan stands resolved to lift his lady
to place her gently on a throne of gold.
Chiara's half his heart, his hand to hold,
a mother to their son and to their twins,
no fitter consort for a prince to win.
A spirit bright, sharp mind, and graceful form,
her smile bestowed has kept her family warm.
Without his love stout Eoghan would wane thin,
an empty shell, lacking royal ambition,
he seeks to make her queen, with her permission.