THOU art my love 
And thou art the peace of sundown 
When the blue shadows soothe 
And the grasses and the leaves sleep 
To the song of the little brooks 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love, 
And thou art a storm 
That breaks black in the sky 
And, sweeping headlong, 
Drenches and cowers each tree 
And at the panting end 
There is no sound 
Save the melancholy cry of a single owl 
Woe is me!

Thou art my love 
And thou art a tinsel thing 
And I in my play 
Broke thee easily 
And from the little fragments 
Arose my long sorrow 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art a weary violet 
Drooping from sun-caresses. 
Answering mine carelessly 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art the ashes of other men's love 
And I bury my face in these ashes 
And I love them 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art the beard 
On another man's face 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art a temple 
And in this temple is an altar 
And on this altar is my heart 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art a wretch. 
Let these sacred love-lies choke thee 
For I am come to where I know your lies as truth 
And your truth as lies 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art a priestess 
And in thy hand is a bloody dagger 
And my doom comes to me surely 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art a skull with ruby eyes 
And I love thee 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And I doubt thee 
And if peace came with my murder 
Then would I murder 
Woe is me.

Thou art my love 
And thou art death 
Aye, thou art death 
Black and yet black 
But I love thee 
I love thee 
Woe, welcome woe, to me.