every night she spends with me, I trace the lines of bone
with my eyes or with my lips, know that I’m undone;
what is beauty that it hurts so much? and will she ever know
how I breathe and burn for her, though I rise and go…
oh the wind is rising now — hear its shivering moan;
across the surface of the lake, you can see it run
with its fingers reaching down and deep, disturbing slow desire;
is there water in the lake enough, to drown the rising fire…
let me pull the curtains, love; see how the light has grown —
such pale perfection of your lips, in the morning sun;
perhaps you’re right — pull them close, against the growing light.
is it safer in the midnight hours, in the shadowed night…
I wish that I could keep her close, hold her for my own;
isn’t that the way it goes? see the princess, won…
and yet she knows my tangled heart, know its curving road.
how can I ask to add that weight to her heavy load…
there is no moon to light this road; we’re in the dark alone.
the trees are bare, the winter’s ice coats each single, lonely one;
and still I want to hear her laugh, see her flush, and smile —
is it so wrong or foolish, for just a little while…
every night she spends with me, I trace the lines of bone —
oh the wind is rising now — hear its shivering moan…
let me pull the curtains, love; see how the light has grown.
I wish that I could keep her close, keep her for my own;
there is no moon to light this road, we’re in the dark alone…