Classic Poem

My love is waiting in the past,
And I, I cannot go to her:
My eyes are closed, my lips are fast;
Between us comes a shadow vast
And interposes arms of air.

Ah, love, if I could get to you,
If I could break the bands of life,
And bring by death your face in view,
And things that used to be renew,
How I would kiss the keen-edged knife!

How I would run to meet King Death,
And fall upon his icy breast,
And hug each single word he saith, —
If only we might mingle breath,
And in his arms together rest!