Cold black curls frame her ivory face The chiseled features of an Aphrodite in tears Her body trembles, as she takes one last walk Magnificent and beautiful in it's fragile elegance...
One last walk through the cloisters of home To see her little white doves flying around To see the sun shimmering cross the Aegean sea To smell the fragrant thyme of the hills in spring
O byzantine princess wither will you go? Thou art too young too radiant to be a wife How does your heart bear to leave this land And marry a barbarian as your father did command?
Her eyes are the color of cinnamon and honey Her garments glimmer gold in the summer time What sad fate awaits thee fair maid? Why do you cry? Fair and desperate thou art – like Helen of Troy...
Highborn she may be but nothing but a pawn In the grander scheme of imperial politics And so she has to go, as will so many more To seal a pact with europe's barbarian lords
She took with her the arts, the light of her fatherland A dowry far more great than gold and jewels combined And she brought to distant lands the grace that delivered Europe from the night and raised her to the sunlit sky...