Oxfords Obsoletes

By: Peter Frachioni

Hark! Attend mine ear, ye words now fled,

Whilom charms of speech, by scribes long dead.

Yon yclept and forsooth, once rife with glee,

Now quaintly hide in dusty lexicon, free.

Fain I wist of yclept names of yore,

Yet hight and methinks tread through memory’s door.

The swink of tongues that laboured daily,

Doth fade to naught, to anon most palely.

Once eftsoons, laughter tripped o’er gadzooks’ delight,

And prentices of words took twilight flight.

Whilom and peradventure, lights now dim,

“Gramercy!” they whisper, faint as hymn.

Yet still I cherish thy quotha, morrow, sooth,

Thy yclept shadows, thy betwixt truth.

Though tongues forget thee, thou art my trove,

A ken of times when words did rove.