In a lonesome burial-place
Crouched a mourner white of face;
Wild her eyes — unheeding
Circling pomp of night and day —
Ever crying, “Well away,
Love lies a-bleeding!”
And her sighs were like a knell,
And her tears for ever fell,
With their warm rain feeding
That purpureal flower, alas!
Trailing prostrate in the grass,
Love lies a-bleeding.
Through the yews’ black-tufted gloom
Crimson light dripped on the tomb,
Funeral shadows breeding:
In the sky the sun's light shed
Dyed the earth one awful red —
Love lies a-bleeding.
Came grey mists, and blanching cloud
Bore one universal shroud;
Came the bowed moon leading,
From the infinite afar
Star that rumoured unto star —
Love lies a-bleeding.