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Lord Thomas caught her as she fell,
And cried, "My sweet, my fair,
Dark night has hid the golden sun,
And blood has thicked the air.
And cried, "My sweet, my fair,
Dark night has hid the golden sun,
And blood has thicked the air.
The little hand that should have worn
A golden band for me,
The little hand that fluttered so
Is still as death can be."
A golden band for me,
The little hand that fluttered so
Is still as death can be."
He bent and kissed the weeping wound
Fresh in her heart's young core,
And then he kissed her sleeping mouth
That would not waken more.
Fresh in her heart's young core,
And then he kissed her sleeping mouth
That would not waken more.
He seized the Brown Girl's rippling hair
That swung in eddies loose,
And with one circle of his arm
He made a hairy noose.
That swung in eddies loose,
And with one circle of his arm
He made a hairy noose.
He pulled it till she swooned for pain,
And spat a crimson lake;
He pulled it till a something snapped
That was not made to break.
And spat a crimson lake;
He pulled it till a something snapped
That was not made to break.
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