IX
Let Death steal softly through the gate of sleep
On tiptoe! win way the maiden life
On velvet pinions to his azure steep;
At ease, at peace, to woo her for a wife!
His white horse waiting quietly without
Let him push gently the delicious door
And take us. We have lived. How should we doubt
Or fear? we have lived well. For ever more
We must be well. The cypress cannot daunt,
Nor the acacia thrill; we are content
To wander in the shadowy groves, to haunt
The dark delight of our own element;
Or—could we send a messenger—to tell
Our brothers of the happiness of Hell!
On tiptoe! win way the maiden life
On velvet pinions to his azure steep;
At ease, at peace, to woo her for a wife!
His white horse waiting quietly without
Let him push gently the delicious door
And take us. We have lived. How should we doubt
Or fear? we have lived well. For ever more
We must be well. The cypress cannot daunt,
Nor the acacia thrill; we are content
To wander in the shadowy groves, to haunt
The dark delight of our own element;
Or—could we send a messenger—to tell
Our brothers of the happiness of Hell!
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