From here the land's edge
It writes and unwrites itself
Where your words ought to be
And the green-fingered lady
Who longed, longed me to stay
Made all the roses wither away
As I climbed, climbed the gate
And reams of clouds hid me
And said with her carriage
And she kissed you and bound you
And gave frost to your veins
Where your words ought to be
Who vowed, vowed you'd remain
Your poor heart bloom again