Why Look You Now So Pale?

Why look you now so pale, my love?
Why is your skin so wan?
Don’t say it’s time to go, my love!
Don’t say you must be gone!

Remember how it was, my sweet?
When first our love began?
How each the other did complete?
Now I feel but half a man.

The castle that I built for you,
Its stones of purest air?
A haven built for just we two,
A fortress against care?

Don’t turn, my love, and walk away -
Don’t go where I can’t follow!
In this world I’m doomed to stay:
Shattered, empty, hollow.

‘Life goes on,’ friends say to me,
That I’ll know joy again hereafter,
But everywhere your shade I see,
And hear your ringing laughter.

I see you walk a darksome hall
I hear the churchyard’s knell
You turn, once, at my frantic call,
And you wave a last farewell.

I see your smile, all joy and love,
And I seem to hear you say
You’ll wait for me, beyond the veil,
And I’ll catch you up, some day.

Until that day, my dearest one,
Forgive me if I tarry.
For I’m not yet weary of the sun,
The moon, and the night so stary.

Iain Muir was born in London, and has since then dived in Mauritius, raced cars on dirt roads through African cane fields, been robbed in German pubs, and now resides in North Sydney. He drinks too much red wine, and spends too much on reading material. He plans on getting rich the old-fashioned way: by winning the lottery.

Find more by Iain Muir in the Author Index.

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