And to the dying breath I found,
in honesty it was aroused,
by moonlight hidden from the stars,
and hands forsaken in moments to far.
And to the pity I have found,
in midnight dreams I thought profound,
by daylight on a mask partake,
and hands with fingers to brittle to shake.
And to the fleeting words you speak,
in emotion drenched by rain too deep,
by waves of passion unfamiliar,
and hands that touch the air in want.
And to the dying kiss once had,
in dreams that drove this women mad,
by candle light she did partake,
and hands once soft did she break.
And to the dying of this love,
in truth a love if it once was,
by darkness did she keep his voice,
and hands always shaking at her choice.
And to the moonlight soothe her well,
in heartache of the mistress veil,
by light of one once never had,
and hands awaiting the touch gone mad.
And to the days on summers end,
in melancholy words run end,
by simple verse, she would be wed,
and hands of a mistress, a story unsaid