Among the meadows, beside the church there lives a solitary soul,
his name is Arthur, who, like his father, possesses a heart of gold.
'To my dearest' he writes, 'to the one I love, the one I cannot have',
'the children cackle and point their fingers, the women are calling me mad.'
Arthur had wronged not a single one, he is a man both good and kind.
Yet he is highly eccentric and feared by some and, to his goodness, they are blind.
His only sin is the imperishable love he shares for his Rosalin,
she lives, like him, amongst the meadows and around the church, aside him.
'Conserved and peaceful' he describes, 'you truly are a woman in disguise'.
'the epitome of beauty' he says to her. 'My love is constant, it never errs'.
She, however, is a peculiar one. Her house is slender, wooden and black.
About her home there are painted signs, 'Witch' they say 'Don't turn your back'.
She dresses delightfully, with her hat and gloves, she adores her blue draped dress.
'Though that is strange', he writes again, 'as you do not seek to impress'.
'The ringlets and coils within your hair that sit above that buttoned nose,
each day I run my fingers through them, each day my love will grow.'
'The shards beneath my nails' he writes 'and scars upon my feet',
'The earth within my soles' he says, 'are painless when we finally greet'.
Her life is monotonous, continuous and dead, she hardly lives at all.
Yet each and every passing day Arthur is at her door.
Dara