With death weaved in her hair she weeps;
With sorrows stitched in each lip she bleeds.
What woes quiver within her tender flesh?
What joys fester in relentless agony there?

The wicked sunset sheds
Impious light upon her pallid face.
She captures death in a glare
And I am cast into the
Ravenous arms of sorrow.

I must forsake my love for
Love's sake, not love for
Human heart, soul, nor flesh,
Yet a love black as hellish
Night. I flee in dread of her.

Now death, our virtuous mother,
Arrives in Stygian splendour.
Her head adorned with
Dead king's crowns.
I am lost in blissful woe.

A rose wilting under
The incessant lashings
Of the moon kisses
Her heart with black lips
And my soul is forever left
In the weeping dawn.