Strong as Death

O Death, when thou shalt come to me

Out of thy dark, where she is now,

Let no faint perfume cling to thee

Of withered roses on thy brow.

Come not, O Death, with hollow tone,

And soundless step, and clammy hand -

Lo, I am now no less alone

Than in thy desolate doubtful land;

But with that sweet and subtle scent

That ever clung about her (such

As with all things she brushed was blent);

And with her quick and tender touch.

With the dim gold that lit her hair,

Crown thyself, Death; let fall thy tread

So light that I may dream her there,

And turn upon my dying bed.

And through my chilling veins shall flame

My love, as though beneath her breath;

And in her voice but call my name,

And I will follow thee, O Death.