He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair,
Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.
"I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,
For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;
"In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears.
But my eyes are no longer blue, as in old years;
"Yea, they grow grey with time, grow small and dry,
I am so feeble now, would I might die."
And in truth the great bell overhead
Left off his pealing for the dead,
Perchance, because the wind was dead.
Will he come back again, or is he dead?
O! is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?
Or did they strangle him as he lay there.
With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?
Only I pray thee. Lord, let him come here!
Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.
Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive
Either body or spirit this wild Christmas-eve.
Through the floor shot up a lily red,
With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,
For he was strong in the land of the dead.
What matter that his cheeks were pale.
His kind kiss'd lips all grey?
"O, love Louise, have you waited long?"
"O, my lord Arthur, yea."
