An Age-Old Story

I was proud to think myself beyond love,
To think no chain could tie or bind me.
I should have known love would find me.
One morning at coo of dewy dove,

I saw thee walking to the water-well,
Long black hair in living midnight cascade
Flowing to shoulders, eyes green as jade,
Murmuring prayers to tones of the prayer-bell.

And so I stood there, as one struck with madness,
My jaw gaping, face pale and thoughts dim.
And could you be mine on such a whim,
My joyous despair would become shining gladness.

But thou art as far above me as the blazing sun
Is above the earth his bold golden rays do warm.
Thou art a radiant star in radiant mortal form.
If after the moon and rainbows I could run,

And catch the colors of the high sky-ways,
And bind them with dancing moonlit dreams,
To create a shawl that seems wet, it so gleams,
I could not present it; for in a lover's daze

Would I stand as thou proceeded to the well,
My heart intoning a version of an age-old story,
Thy dark hair flowing still unbound, a glory,
Murmuring prayers to the tones of the prayer-bell.