Classic Poem

In March, when the winds begin to love,
and the world begins to crave,
I dream of my lady of the dead.
I go alone to her grave.

I go by the road that threads the woods——
a way that few men know.
I glance behind me, along the road——
for I always fear to go.

Long, long I stand by the sunken mound——
as long as I ever dare.
I often glance about the place,
for I know I should not be there.
Not for myself do I care,

but for the lady who loved me long,
with a love that well she hid——
for laws and lips forbade us ever
to kiss. We never did.

We only dreamed, though every March
the winds began to rave.

We only dreamed, though every spring
the world began to crave.
We only dreamed, yet only seemed
unlike the ones who gave.

We loved each other, the lady and I,
in what was the only way——
with love sustained, with love restrained,
with nothing to betray.
I loved her so that none might know——
and even so, with none to know,
I love the lady today.

I dare not utter her name aloud,
though the amorous March winds rave.

I dare not utter even a sigh,
though I stand alone by the grave.