Like a wind-writhen ash
On a rime-grizzled moor,
Corpse-cold in the shade
Beside the church-door

She stood with a grin
As we trod, newly wed,
The slimy green path
By the mounds of the dead.

As her blank eyes bleared out
From her pocked yellow face
Like a moon on the wane,
We slackened our pace:

As her cruel blind eyes
Peered into each heart,
We faltered and trailed
Unlinked and apart,

Till, estranged and corpse-cold,
We stood at our door,
Each lone as an ash
On a rime-grizzled moor.