Upon the wastes of field and fen I plod,
And seek one lost, my love, whose body lies
Somewhere between the seafoam and the sod,
Betwixt the grassland greens and azure skies.
Your name I name with cries that sighing blow
Upon cold breezes carrion birds now fly;
Black wings and clouds descending with the snow
To cloak in palest shrouds, for hopes to die.
Ice falls and rests on limbs that lowly sway,
As tears from lookers on in canopies
Collect on shoulders plumed with winged splay,
As if to share the burden of my cries.
If winter ends in death and dirge's plaint,
Yet spring must resurrect my fallen saint.
