(...)

(…)

As of something stirring in the vault,
Like shades and shadows recalled,
Fair now, the land withers with goodbyes.
I view such sorrow, while in my eyes,
Beflowered, a poison river
Flows perfumed and troubled, forever.

Waters crystalline, as my tears,
Each petal, an echo, disappears
While I see your soul inside my sin,
And, in the demon beneath my skin,
I feel your heart in slumber wake
With what was never mine to take.
The prison! The prison! And the ache!

And at twilight, the butterflies
Kiss each flower as it dies:
These lilies that blush on thee,
Whose light should not shine on me.

On a bed of violets, and autumn leaves,
Thy breast in slumber heaves.
Beside thee, let me rest my woe
While the waters in silence flow.
O! That I might never rise again!
O! That life never had been!
A sleep that is not sleep
Where never we shall weep,
Where never known is our pain,
And never loved is love in vain.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle