Death called,—but why did you go?
Did you not know
That life is better than death,
That snatches the breath
Out of joy?—that love is better than death?
Did you not understand
How guarded the Land
Where death leads?—that howe'er the heart yearn,
One can never return
From the gloom
Of that dwelling-place lone that doth hold and entomb?
O my sweet!
Might I follow your feet,—
Afar from the sun and the bloom-scented air,
I would open once more
The inexorable door,
And drink of dark Lethe, your prison to share!