There is a willow grows aslant a brook, that shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream; there with fantastic garlands did she come Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples that liberal shepherds give a grosser name, but our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: there, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; when down her weedy trophies and herself fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; and, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; as one incapable of her own distress, or like a creature native and indued unto that element: but long it could not be till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay to muddy death.





Con Coco y Álvaro, 2013