Where lotus blossoms sleep,
by marshes dank and deep,
my love went down to weep
so long ago.
She’d had to let me leave,
grow old and grey and grieve,
go mad with make-believe,
not let me know
that she still cared for me,
though we could never be;
she needed to be free,
so she could grow!
She said she had moved on,
since we were twenty one;
And our first love had gone,
so long ago.
But she could not disguise
with savage sapphire lies
the love lost in her eyes
when it would glow.