When over us the cross its shadow throws,
Our frames enshrouded in the mould of night,
Thy body shall reflower in lily white,
And from my flesh be born the ensanguined rose.

And Death divine, thy verse in music knows,
With silence and oblivion to his flight,
In heavens shall show us, lulled with gentle might,
Echanted route where strange, new stars repose.

And mounting to the sun, within his breast
Our spirits twain shall melt and be possessed
Of blessedness of everlasting fire;

But Fame, anointing friend and child of song,
Shall give us an eternal life among
The immortal Shades made kin by glorious Lyre.