The Double-Goer by Gordon Bottomley Lyrics

He wanders down the winding woodland ways,
Half-faltering in the green dusk's doubtful shiver,
Until at last by some forgotten river
He meets a woman with his own sad face,
Sharpened, as if by death; clad in a grace
Of garments ashen-green, leaf-tremulous:
His imaged eyes are lingering-amorous
Yet tear-worn, as with writhen mouth he says:
"I meet my soul a-walking here beneath
This dim oppression of stifling greenery—
For to my desolate lovelessness it seems
The soul of man is fashioned womanly—
And nought is in her aspect, core o' my dreams,
Save sweet, sinister promises of death."