I used to be my lady's maid,
At her beck and at her aid.
I used to be my lady's maid,
In her skirts and in her shade.

(I was my lady's maid, she said,
in her bower, in her bed.)

Flowers for her ribbons winding,
Blossoms for her charms beguiling.
Trinkets for her bed and bower,
Lips to hers in rose-bound tower.

(I slept against her, she then said,
cheek to cheek in lover's stead.)

And, oh my lady was fleet and fair,
With emerald eyes and golden hair.
And oh, my lady was sweet and wise,
With ready laugh and pretty smiles.

(I loved her as my own, she said,
and followed swiftly where she led.)

But then there came a lord in armor,
With steely sword and burning ardor.
Then there came, a lord, a wager,
A golden ring and heart to capture.

(I was my lady's maid, she said,
warming blankets in his stead.)

And so I burned and so I withered,
Cold and spurned and full of anger.
And so into the woods I wandered,
For roses sweet and river heather.

(I was my lady's love, she said,
and for this crime, I've paid and bled.)

I made a flask, I filled it brimming,
With ready heart, and full of singing.
I made a flask, I crushed the flower,
Mixed with wreaths within the bower.

(I loved her as my own, she said,
but her own true love, I wanted dead.)

He had his wine each day at dawning,
His cup he filled to flow and brimming.
He had his wine from a flask at dawning,
By noon his stomach set to snarling.

(I hated as a witch might hate, she said,
I laughed to hear his mortal dread.)

By eve he lay arraigned in honor,
With sun-kissed flesh now reft of ardor.
By eve he lay, a corpse in armor,
Lost to mortal hope of succor.

(I smiled to see him still, she said,
The spirit from his figure fled.)

But by the midnight, she was raging,
Her eyes in anger, burnt with hatred.
A flask within her hand to breaking,
A curse between her lips to making.

(I wept to see her howl, she said,
and cried I'd drink the poison red.)

My course was clear, the goblet silver,
No light of love to thus remember.
I sipped the flask and wept in ardor,
At her emerald eyes and burning anger.

(I swallowed swiftly then, she said,
for love had withered, broken, fled.)

But hellebore and witch's brew to mix,
From my lady's hand, a subtle curse.
From poison, my form did swiftly shift,
A feathered spell and well-made hex.

(White as ivory, I came, she said,
and folded wings and bowed her head.)

And from her window, moved to sailing,
Her laughter, mocking, cold, and fading.
Far from lady, hall and bower,
Far from love and withered flower.
And in the rivers, set to seeing,
The face my heart is swiftly fleeing.
The lady in her tower, poisoned, dying,
From hellebore and mortal sorrow.