Classic Poem

Now you have slain me with too bright a sword,
Too deft a stroke, too perfect an intent,
And I am dying, desolate and forspent,
While still you are my beautiful adored!
Yet think not ever I would falter back
To ask forgiveness for the blood you spilt.
Plunge, succuba, plunge deeper, to the hilt!
Let me at least die proud, though my heart crack.

You have no pity, and I shall not sue.
Only when I have died from too much grief,
You'll know I loved you, better than belief,
Past all your valuations, false and true.
And never will you seem less pitiful
Than now, my murderous and beautiful!