� by J.W. Waterhouse
I pulled the silken ribbon from my hair,
The mourner's black released to wind from hand.
A "fare thee well, my love," to empty air;
My sadness loosed as I from sorrow's bands.
My friends and time made harsh tears soothed away,
Yet soul still harboured yearning's silent cries.
And at grief's end, he came in visions fey
To haunt me with dead love's liquid eyes.
I asked this shade to take me in his hold,
To love, to feel. The spector shook his head.
He took my hand; I learned his breast was cold.
"Although I keep his form, the heart lies dead."
Between revulsion and consuming need,
This ghost to banish, I -- again ---must bleed.
� by ~White Raven~
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