It haunts my dreams, this ruined place,

With silent screams and faded lace,

I see the lady in each hall,

Adorned in red for someone’s ball.

The ceiling once was painted grand,

But now it shows the gray sky bland.

The strains of music can be heard,

From the beak of mocking bird,

And if one comes at dark of night,

They will see the lady’s plight,

In the Mirror of the Lake,

A mirror that one cannot break,

The house reflects in all its glory,

And tells a tragic, long lost story,

Of a lady and her love,

As gentle as a cooing dove.

x

In the Mirror of the Lake,

When all is dark and quiet,

A strange mysterious shape doth take,

The reflections, now disquiet.

In the empty manor hall,

The shining mirror shows,

The lady, tired of the ball,

Is pacing with her beau.

A loving pair the two did make,

Comfortable and calm,

He smiles at her, her hand he takes,

Into his larger palm.

Unknown to them the pair is watched,

With envy darkened eyes,

And soon a murderous plan is hatched,

By a lady in disguise.

She, disguised, is beautiful,

Her jet-black hair upturned,

Her followers are worshipful,

Adoring, but all spurned.

The one she wants walks with the maid,

His heart already taken,

But she stops not, her plans are laid,

Her purpose is not shaken,

She waits until the two, unknowing,

Step into the night,

And then she follows, black gown flowing,

To the lover’s site.

Before the shining lake are they,

Whispering words of love,

In that perilous night of May,

The lady and her love.

The planner creeps behind them,

And with a sudden rush,

She shoves the maiden for a swim,

Under the waters crush.

The man, she stabs with frenzied moves,

A hundred times his heart,

To take from him the life he loves,

And from his lady part.

The ladylove in vines entangled,

‘Neath the glassy water,

Violently is choked and mangled,

And dies from brutal slaughter.

The one disguised, her rash deeds done,

Turns from the water’s wave,

Where two now lay, their lives undone,

In their glassy grave.

She tears the dark dress from her form,

And moves the jet wig black,

And to a peasant doth transform,

Dressed in a cotton sack.

The woman, wanting the man’s love,

Seducing did not waver,

But he, honoring ladylove,

Did shut her from his favor.

So with plots and plans of ill,

The woman made her mind,

That she both lovers' blood would spill,

And to the grave would bind.

But killed, the ladylove is not,

She floats upon the surface,

And, climbing from that ghastly spot,

Wipes water from her face.

Seeing not her lover dead below,

The water’s silent hand,

She searches for him high and low,

For’er in the mansion grand.

x

A hundred years have passed since then,

When the woman did that horrid sin,

And ghostly now the lady wanders,

Looking for he who of she was fonder,

And cries with silent sobs of woe,

For her love, who to earth did go.

All this the glassy mirror tells,

And sorrow from the story wells,

From the Mirror of the Lake,

A mirror that one cannot break.

Written about two years ago. I'm not entirely happy with the flow of a few lines (they're off), so you don't have to tell me that, but anything else you see to critique, barrel away!