i
The spirit waning to its hour extreme,
That faith and joy and peace may never know,
Away with it to death without a dream!
The last faint notes that falter in the flow
Of dying strains, and dying hope s last gleam,
Last breath, last love — O let them, let them go!
vi
Whence cometh he? What realms of gloom or light
Behind him lie? Through what weird terrors last
Thus clothed in stormy grandeur sped so fast,
Dishevelling his mane with wild affright?
A youth with mien of martial prowess, blent
With majesty no shock disquieteth,
Vested in steely armour sheening clear,
Fearless bestrides the terrible portent.
"I," the tremendous steed declares, "am Death!"
"And I am Love!" responds the cavalier.