Ophelia (from Rose-Witch)

She stood at the lakeside, pale

skirts summer-twilight glowing,

hair loose and light about her head

as if in water outspread. Wavelets

ankle-lapping. I called out

 

but oh, God, she would not listen.

She just ran and I could not

follow, all dark and I couldn’t find her.

The slap and slosh and cold water closing…

 

(We sat on the wall and talked,

we lay in the grass and loved.

 

You princes always prating

of other islands in other cold seas—

Forgive me, good sir, I am bound

for better or worse, for airier realms.)