And now, the first
She comes, she comes
She who is lost to me
She whom I — cast? — from me
So some would say
So she might say....
Buried always but never gone.
Slow hours, slow days, slow years
Each day more hours, each year more days
and I am parted from you long and longer
In water as Ophelia I have lain
In earth as your dead wife I have been laid
Water is cold and earth is colder
A queen in opal or in ruby dress
A nameless girl in freshest summer's green
These things I've been
My face looked out from all your canvases,
You fed upon my face by day and night,
And I with true kind eyes looked back on you
See me now as once I was,
As if hope still shone bright;
Not as I am, but as I filled your dream.