He wishes his Beloved were Dead
Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would, beloved, that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground,
While lights were paling one by one.
Painted with Rosemary & Co brush using Sennelier Watercolors on Khadi handmade paper. Penwork was completed entirely in Copic multiliners in 0.1,0.3 and 0.5.