She stood,
Like a pale morning ghost who dares to hope,
In the dusk that had become her life.

Her sweet nature and innocent mind,
Believed not in the faults of others.
Yet did she cling to shadows of her happiness,
The way dewdrops cling to petals of the rose.

A pure white pearl,
Stained by lies,
Lost in the anger of her lord.
Yet did she forgive all,
With her kind and gentle heart.
Though she thought herself,
Undeserving of his wrath.

She would not have been false,
For all the world.
Her ruin was brought about,
By compassion.

Oh Desdemona,
Had you not been so gentle and obedient,
Had you but questioned the abuse of your lord,
Then would the concealing lies be gone,
And your true brightness shine through,
To turn dusk to dawn.

Alas, too late,
And you are dead.
Tossed away by the cruel hands of love.
The seas themselves mourn for you,
The pure white pearl,
That was thrown away.