On the shores of light at the edge of night- the poet weeps for his lost love
The old marble statues stand white- in the garden bright
The buttercups are in dew- trimmed with hedges of yew
She has left him- amongst the bright flowers
Through the flowing of his tears- and the sweet music of the spheres
He can hear the angel’s sing- she has gone beyond the portal
To the castle of the King
With his face buried in the long uncut grass- the poet wept
And the sun of the coming day- was shone on his solitude