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CHORIAMBICS.
Ah, thy snow-coloured hands! once were they chains,
mighty to bind me fast;
Now no blood in them burns, mindless of love, senseless
of passion past.
Ah, thy beautiful hair! so was it once braided for me,
for me;
Now for death is it crowned, only for death, lover and
lord of thee.
[Pg 99]Sweet, the kisses of death set on thy lips, colder are they
than mine;
Colder surely than past kisses that love poured for thy
lips as wine.
Lov'st thou death? is his face fairer than love's, brighter
to look upon?
Seest thou light in his eyes, light by which love's pales and
is overshone?
