On a Hot Afternoon

I saw her amidst a clamoring crowd,
Whilst the blazing sun schorched my skin;
O what divine grace hath heaven bestowed
To this lass whose face is of angel’s kin.

Her eyes pierceth like a lynx’s bend
That I can barely hold her stunning gaze;
Her saccharine smile makes heaven descend
And drives this burning hell out of place.

Might this be mirage, a mere illusion?
Truly such fair nymph could never exist,
Come might this same searing afternoon,
And see her no more like an evanscened mist.

-by H. Narcissus