The Lady And The Artisan Poem by Mary Champion

It was a balmy summer's night,
the sky was tinted mauve,
a ghostly moon cast silver light
as she came through the grove.

Her fingers clutched the billet doux
her lover's hand had penned -
'Please meet me when the clock strikes two,
down by the river bend.'

A high-born maiden full of grace,
whom earl's and dukes admire,
her father swore ‘twas not her place
to choose her heart's desire.

But she had promised all her heart
to a handsome artisan.
She could not bear that they should part,
she'd wed no other man.

Then, through the effervescent haze,
she saw that, as he'd vowed,
he waited at their meeting place.
Their hearts would not be cowed.

He ran to take her in his arms,
how eagerly they kissed,
oblivious of mortal harms
now looming through the mist.

Her brothers stood with daggers drawn,
her favourite lay dead.
She could not bear to live and mourn
and so she chose instead

to dive into the raging stream
which swept her out to sea.
She never heard her brothers scream
and rue their savag'ry.

But any balmy summer's night
when skies are tinted mauve
and ghostly moon casts silver light,
she walks the haunted grove.