She Wore Red Ribbons

Aww, SD! Think of it as tough love.

And this is much better! Now for that closer look I promised, da?

Hm. S1! There's no need for a comma at the end of the first line, and I think the second would flow better if you inserted "down" between "glides" and "thy."

S2: The rhythm here is just about perfect! Good job. ^_^ This also introduces the Gothic feel (gothic as in, well, not the contemporary meaning of black-nails-and-angry-music), whereas the first stanza had a much more Romantic feel.

...Really, there's no need for me to go stanza by stanza with this. The rewrite is fantastic! I'll admit I'm a little confused as to how she dies--at times it seems like she stabs herself, in others, sort of like she's hanged herself or drowned. Maybe clarify that? Other than that, the poem--and language (;)) are perfect.

Brava!

Thankyou both of you *winces at the word butchered* I've tried to sort it out. Is this any better?:

Slender river of thine eye,
Glides thy cheek with deepest sigh.
Art thou the essence of the dark?
Or song of thine own bitter lark?

Sweet softness of thy pale skin,
Marked with feelings bound within
In a line of deepest red
To hold thee to a blood-stained bed.

One silver slither shining bright:
The choice of thy dark tools I sight.
Swift as raven wing in sky,
Come down the tool with haste from high.

Oh, how life has forsaken thee,
Beneath the weeping willow tree
And there thou art with palest face
Swinging softly, lost from grace.

Thy hair flies out with ghostly charm,
And then mine eyes meet with thine arm,
Where thou wearest thy ribbons red.
Oh shame, too late, for thou art dead.

*Wince.* I hate seeing archaic English forms butchered like this... though to be fair you've done a better job than most I've seen. Correct your "thees and thous" and I'll come back and give you a complete crit. Corrections below in bold.

Slender river of thine eye,
Down thy pale cheeks thou cryest.
Art thou the essence of the dark?
Or song of thine own bitter lark?

Sweet softness of thy pale skin,
Marked with feelings bound within
In a line of deepest red
To hold thee to a blood-stained bed.

One silver slither shining bright:
The choice of thy dark tools I sight.
Swift as raven wing in sky,
Come down the tool with haste from high.

Oh, how life has forsaken thee,
Beneath the weeping willow tree
And there thou art with palest face
Swinging softly, lost from grace.

Thy hair flies out with ghostly charm,
And then mine eyes meet with thine arm,
And there thou wearest thy ribbons red.
Oh shame, too late, for thou art dead.

I love this poem. The language is very accurate, the rhyme and rhythm are perfect and basically I couldn't find a single mistake. It's often hard to write in such a complex style but you've done an excellent job so keep up the good work!