All the bursting promise
The flame of your grave and gracious youth.
Destroyed absurdly for nothing.
And I cry and cry and cry for you.
We came from different worlds
I never spoke to you Maris.
But your face burned into my soul
Before I learned the macabre masquerade
Which joined us inadequately and mysteriously
I suffer to stone face facts, the facts of your non-being
Now, and that I never will be seeing you grow.
The leap into the dark yawning
At the brink of a young life's opening.
Your discovery's too brief trajectory.
But had you known me, you would know
My days are signalled in your good grace
And misguided inspiration from your face
Composing my ballads the story of
Cruel charades, ma belle Dame, ma flame
Qui s'appelle Maris/Marsi,
See whose colours I wear!
See! Si! Si!
She in my work immutable
She enduring prayer.