Threnody

The maiden sat weeping, combing her hair,
Coiled on a bed of sweet amaranth.
Her face even in heartbreak was fair,
And her tears fell unheeded on the grass of jade,
Fell unheeded on her gown of richest brocade,
Fell sparkling through the rose-scented air,
Fell soft as the words from the mouth of the maid.

"It was perfect, my love, in the days we dwelt
In the garden that was then our playground.
Then it was only the roses which we smelt;
Then it was only grass that we walked upon;
Then the only light that we knew was dawn;
Then love was the only emotion we felt;
Then the love that we knew was not yet gone 

"Oh, my love, you who have left me here,
Have left me here to weep like a deserted child,
For you is the soft falling of every pearly tear;
For you is the sickness in my once-clear eyes;
For you is the face that I turn from the sunrise;
For you is the loss of the music so deep and clear;
For you is the sadness I feel at being so wise.

"Oh, my love, where is it that you had to go,
You with your clear eyes and your tender hands,
Who told me so often in summer tales of snow;
Who laughed at me when I braided flowers;
Who lay beside me and listened for hours;
Who knew tales that I never could know;
Who worshipped the rarest of beauty's fair powers?

"Oh, my love, did you go into the land of dreams,
The land of dreams that you so often spoke of,
The land where everything, so you said, gleams;
The land full of flowers that are more rare than rose;
The land where the unicorns in the afternoon doze;
The land where summer sings in the streams;
The land whose sky is full of bright rainbows?

"Oh, my love, how could you leave me to mourn,
Whom you claimed to love more than your heart,
I who did not know then what it was to be forlorn,
I who trusted you as would have a tame hind;
I who to your faults, to all but your smile was blind;
I who had not learned that the rose bears a thorn;
I who had loved you for years out of mind?

"Still I grieve for you, and ever will I grieve,
Who left me here and did not for my feelings care,
You whose gaze was as green as the forest's dark eave;
You who had a voice that was trained to sing;
You who made me believe that I was everything;
You who never told me why you had to leave;
You who took flight from here as a robin takes wing."

So the maiden wept, and the words of that maid,
Coiled on a bed of sweet amaranth,
Whispered over her gown of so-rich brocade,
Whispered down through the rose-scented air,
Whispered down over a face heartbreakingly fair,
Whispered down onto grass of unrepentant jade,
Whispered down as the maiden sat combing her hair.