COME sit thee down and rest at Death's pale feet,
Learn of his silence, in his shadow lie,
And never shade more false will come thee nigh;
Nay, think no shame of sorrow, it is meet,
Think shame of idle love that words can cheat;
So love that looks on death and cannot die,
Will bear Death's message with his parting sigh,
And find for thee erewhile a loftier seat.

O fire of love that makes the soul athirst
For life, eternal as thou seemest to be!
Or thou art deathless in us, or the worst
Fiend of a hell that but exists by thee,—
And thou wilt die from off the earth accurst,
Or, newly armed, from death will set us free.