Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,
Saying [that]1 now you are not as you were
When you [had]2 changed from the one who was all to me,
But as at first, when our day was fair.

Can it be you that I hear? Let me [view]3 you, then,
[ Standing as when I drew near to the town
Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,
Even to the original air-blue gown! ]1

Or is it only the breeze, in its listlessness
Travelling [across]4 the wet mead to me here,
You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness,
Heard no more again far or near?

  Thus I; faltering forward,
  Leaves [around]5 me falling,
Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward,
  And the woman calling.