With poisonous tendrils of hatred and fear
   You smothered the dreams of a child;
And when she was grown and would never come near,
   Your guilt you wrote down and compiled –
   And she remained free in the wild.
Your words now bring pity and shaking of heads –
A black velvet shroud sewn with ebony shreds –
   She dances at night in the Spring
In dresses of moonlight and rose-scarlet threads;
   Her lips have recalled how to sing.

Your madness hung heavy upon her young ear –
   Her youth and her love you defiled;
And when she had flown, there was no one to hear,
   For gone were the fools you beguiled –
   And she remained free in the wild.
The guest rooms were ready, with sheets on the beds,
And Summer was blooming in yellows and reds;
   Yet there was no laughter to ring –
You offered the Winter humanity dreads,
   But she was a child of the Spring.

The silence grew ominous year after year.
   Your pleasures were paltry and mild;
And beautiful Autumn felt foreign and drear –
   The leaves you once loved you reviled,
   And she remained free in the wild.
The girls down the street with their mittens and sleds,
Watched over by matrons with pastries and breads,
   Brought only a terrible sting –
For you walked the path which the dying one treads,
   But she was in love with the Spring.

Though Summer had blossomed with yellows and reds,
You wore a black shroud sewn with ebony threads;
   And there was no laughter to ring –
You ran after Winter, your garments in shreds,
   And she danced away with the Spring.