My Lover is the Forest

I
Her hair is now a chain of blooming flowers
Her fingers touch the reeds under the shade
Above her breast the Lark sings out the hours
Her lovely form under tombstone firmly laid.

In the hollow of Oulard I laid my love to sleep
Trusted herons and deers for her to keep
Now every scent brings from the woods her scent
Every gale carries on my long lament.

II
I would have fought a thousand fights for thee
Holding on to just your faith in me
But when I found the faith a fake and love no more
I broke, from left to right, from skin to core.

The one in the grave is not you but the one
That I created myself from loving alone
Now I´m in exile and she crowned with a girdle
Where the lark and the wind accuse me of murder.