Lament

Now let all lovely things embark

Upon the sea of mist

With her whose luscious mouth the dark,

Grim troubadour has kissed.

The silver clock that ticked away

Her days, and never knew

Its beats were sword thrusts to the clay

That too much beauty slew.

The pillow favored with her tears

And hallowed by her head;

I shall not even keep my fears,

Now their concern is dead.

But where shall I bury sun and rain,

How mortalise the stars,

How still the half-heard cries of pain

That seared her soul with scars?

In what sea depths shall all the seeds

Of every flower die?

Where shall I scatter the broken reeds,

And how erase the sky?

And where shall I find a hole so deep

No troubled ghost may rise?

There will I put my head to sleep

Wanting her face and eyes.