I was the wandering, trembling fool,
And she the dark maiden beside the still pool.
I offered a smile, she offered a stone
Toward the sad water, toward the deep moan.
Where is your father? Where are your friends?
Where is your lover? Could no one attend
This watery pyre, this infinite sky
Above the soft ground where fair maiden would lie?
I stood far too close, to the woman so fair,
And saw the stone, painted with red in her hair,
But it was not my fingers, it was not my hands,
It was not my sinews that trembled the land.
Depth of the water
Queen of the mud
Spirals of beauty
Of echoes, of blood.
And do I hear footsteps?–But wait, like a fool,
Before the dark maiden beneath the still pool.