I look down the road and see Mary running
With golden hair and lips like cherries.
We go down to the river where the willows weep,
We take an uprooted root for lovers’ seat
That has burst from the jagged earth,
Yet still clings to the ground by ivy’s crawling collars.
O Mary, you have bewitched my soul
(And I cannot tell the good from the bad)
Forever hostage to your childlike world.
And then I set my heart, a little tin cup, along
The prison of her ribs,
With a shake of her curly locks
That girlish chatterer,
With her dress rolled up above the knees
Turns these waters into wine
Then weaves the willow garlands.
Mary laughs in the shallows
Where the carp leaps,
Fading into the newborn shadows she casts
Across these mournful waters and across my heart…
