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Romantique
I never was a real thing-did you think me so?
I was only a quaint figure from a queer old book.
Now my time is over, back again I go-
You will never find me, no matter where you look.
T shall shut the covers safe-safe-tight-
Hidden from the curious things your world would do to
me.
You have such strange good and bad, and wrong and
right-
It was not the story I supposed that it would be.
Well, it does not matter-I shall be, so soon,
Leaning by a willow with my ringlets falling;
Weaving fadeless rosebuds by an ever-crescent moon;
Dreaming of my true-love to a gentle river's calling.
If anyone should ask for me, say that I have gone
Back to my own place again, back where I must stay
Listening to my lover's lute through an eternal dawn,
Believing as he kneels to me through an eternal day!