There...she walks, a flash of shadow over whitened ground

And there, again, she comes, through the mist of winter morning.

I have seen her here for many a year, fleeting glimpse in winter, mourning.

Among the ivied stones of memory, angels bowed their heads

The first time her tears did fall, with whispered prayers, from old times past

The frosted ground muffled sound, snow crunched softly as she passed.

What ties her to this place so still that she should place her red, red rose

With tender hand upon the thorn, with shadowed eyes and guise so grave?

When I am wound within my shroud will you then cry for me, my lady of the grave?

Black velvet silent as she moved, trailed on the newest robes

Of winter’s pure white cloth of snow, she knelt by the grave then a-rose

And walked away upon that day, to return each winter to place a rose

And now I watch her from afar, returning as she has each year

Captivated by her beauty, unchanging, ageless, her lips still red

Her palest of skin still glows within and darkened eyes cannot be read

Then in days of old, you walked away

My lady of the grave

To return each year on a winter’s day

My lady of the grave

Cold stone freezes the tears you cried

My lady of the grave

Each tear which fell for a soul that died

My lady of the grave

In other days when she was young and Life’s hopes filled her eyes

She wore coloured petticoats beneath her sacque

And not a cloak of black

The moon shone bright above the cloud but no shadow there was cast

By the man she met in a moonlit coat

Who kissed her pretty throat

My lady will you go too soon and leave me mourning here alone

And make me wait four seasons more

Watching flowers as they fall

For the rose soon fades, only thorns remain upon their broken stems

And become the weeds that choke my breath

In winter’s place of death

All these years she has placed her rose on a stone so dear to her heart

And cried lonely tears for a life cut short

With tears her peace was bought

Ah, my silent lady of the winter grave, I now fear to see your face

For I see your tears are for yourself -

My lady, ‘tis your grave!